


Heaven & Hell Escort Service

by thejigsawtimess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Escort Service, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Homophobia, Hooker!Cas, M/M, Sex, Sexual Tension, The Wedding Date, alcoholic!john, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 123,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/thejigsawtimess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loosely based on the film 'The Wedding Date'. Castiel Novak is a high class escort, and an expensive one at that. He likes to help people, and being an escort allows him to do that... barely. Dean Winchester is a mechanic/waiter who may have accidentally told his father he has a long-term boyfriend to bring along to Sam's wedding. Desperate times call for desperate measures... an escort service might not be what he wants, but it could be exactly what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the film 'The Wedding Date'. 
> 
> I strongly recommend listening to the song 'Secret' by Maroon 5 at some point during your read. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and let me know what you think :) x

There are few things worse than getting up at 6am after four hours of sleep. At least, this is the thought that swims into Dean Winchester’s brain as his alarm clock excitedly begins to blare, jolting him out of a dream he was thoroughly enjoying – something about soft skin and the warm sweet tang of homemade apple pie.

He sighs and peels open his lids, sticky with sleep dust as he rolls over to slam a weary hand down on the clock, and stop Kansas from trying to persuade him he can ‘lay his head to rest’. Really, it’s a poor choice for an alarm, he thinks idly, swinging his legs out of bed, and wincing as his joints pop.

It’s not even like he has anything motivating him on this dreary Friday stretching ahead, just arduous and achingly dull work at the garage till five, then a shift over at the Roadhouse till god knows when. Thing is, he’s trying to make a good impression on the owner, Ellen, because he’s determined that she let him advertise his Event Planning business there. Not that he’s holding out much hope for that particular pipe dream right now, given the severe lack of clients and profit he’s getting out of it. He’s _good_ at Event Planning though he knows, damn good, and so he’s not going to give up just yet – he can’t help but feel like if Ellen would just give him a shot, maybe even let him advertise the Roadhouse as a venue for his events, he could actually make something of it. So yeah, he’ll be serving beers and clearing tables tonight until Ellen physically pushes him out of the door. He has to give the impression of a dedicated worker.

His phone sings noisily at him as he spits the last of his toothpaste into the sink, and he jogs back out into the bedroom to grab it before it stops ringing. One glance at the caller ID has him smiling like a lunatic and he answers immediately, tucking the cell between his shoulder and his ear as he goes to hunt for a clean t-shirt.

“Sammy!” Dean exclaims into the phone before the caller can spit any words out. “In’t this a little early for you? Even you power-suit lawyers gotta get your beauty sleep y’know. What’s Jess gonna say if you wake up one morning and you’ve aged fifty years in one night?”

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam says frostily, but Dean can hear the smile in his voice. “And don’t call me Sammy, it’s embarrassing.”

Dean chuckles, finding a t-shirt at the bottom of his drawer and taking a moment to pull it over his head. He hears muffled voices when he brings the phone back to his ear, and then suddenly a clear, tinkling laugh erupts down the line.

“Sorry Dean, I think I’d still love your little brother, Benjamin Button curse or not.” Dean smiles at the familiar teasing beauty of Jess’s voice in his ears. She really is great, he thinks. Probably the only person he’d be comfortable seeing stand beside Sam at the altar in a week or so. “Though I’m not cleaning your false teeth, Sam. There is a line.”

Dean hears a disgruntled, “No fair!” in his little brother’s most petulant tone, and then lots of muttering and wet kissing noises.

“Woah, woah!” Dean cries, holding the phone out at arm’s length and taking the opportunity to pull on his work jeans, “If I’d wanted this kind of call I’d have dialled Mistress Magda!”

“Sorry, Dean.” Sam says, sounding very happy and a little breathless. “I know you’ve got work now, that’s why I’m calling so early. I just wanted to ask when you’re coming down? My bachelor party is two days before the ceremony as you know, and… well I’d just like it if you got here as soon as possible.”

Dean’s forehead wrinkles as he strides out into his cramped, moss-green kitchen, hunting for his keys and jacket. “Why’s that?”

“…I just miss you. Duh.”

Dean smiles at Sam’s words; they are touching, yes, but Dean knows his brother well, and right now he smells bullshit. “Sam?”

“…Okay, well, promise not to get mad…”

Dean braces himself for the worst, leaning against one of his cheap pretend-wooden countertops. “Spill.”

“Dad’s been really bad lately. Way worse than usual. Usual I can handle – but now it’s like he’s back to square one! He’s moody and aggressive - even with Jess!”

Sam’s words are like pins threading themselves into Dean’s heart one by one. His Dad’s drinking has been at the root of every problem he or Sam have ever faced. He managed to convince himself that their father would restrain himself for Sammy’s big day, but apparently that’s not the case. Dean will be damned if he lets John ruin his baby brother’s wedding day with his reckless behaviour, like he’s already ruined so much else. He forces himself to keep listening nonetheless, gripping the countertop tightly with his free hand.

“I think it’s cause she maybe… reminds him of Mom a bit? I mean, obviously I’m just guessing here, but… anyway, I just- I’m at my wits end, Dean. I’m worried he’s going to ruin everything. I can’t do that to Jess, she’s so excited…”

“Woah, woah.” Dean says, holding up his hand to silence Sam, as though his little brother could see him from all the way in Lawrence. “Look, don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll come down soon, I swear, I just gotta…” Dean sighs heavily, thinking of what will await him when he gets back home, his eyes fluttering closed, “…I gotta sort it out at work. But listen, you know Dad; the guy can’t get enough of wailing on me about every stupid little failure in my life. Once I’m there, he won’t even have time to be rude to any of the other guests.”

Dean means it as a joke, but the silent crackle on the other end of the line is an immediate indication that Sam is now worrying about Dean too.

“Sammy, I want you to stop worrying okay?” Dean says urgently, willing his brother to take the advice. “You know what they say about anxiety bringing on premature menopause?”

There’s a pause, and then – “You’re such a jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean smiles when he hears Sam’s mildly relieved chuckle. “Okay, Dean. We can just… once we’re both here I’m sure it’ll be a hell of a lot easier.” He says, and Dean grimaces, thinking that as much as he wants to see Sam, dealing with John Winchester has never been anywhere near easy. “Oh, and I _do_ miss you, by the way.”

Dean smiles, mentally punching himself for getting so gooey over that ridiculously cheesy statement. “Yeah, yeah, you big girl. Miss you too.”

“Sooo… you gotta rush off to work? Or is there still time for me to probe you for information about your plus-one?” Sam quickly asks, feigning really bad nonchalance.

Dean rolls his eyes and pushes off the counter, casting a forlorn glance towards the cereal cupboard before pulling on his shoes, grabbing his jacket, and heading out the door without breakfast. “I’m not bringing a plus-one Sam, we’ve been through this.” Dean laughs, and he hears an irritated sigh from the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, but I thought you were _joking._ ” Sam says, and he sounds genuinely bewildered. Dean laughs again. “I mean it’s _you,_ Dean. Why the hell aren’t you bringing someone?”

“I’m just not interested in anyone right now.” Dean replies, locking his door and taking the stairs down to the lobby two at a time. If his tone is a bit curt, well it’s only Sam – Dean’s not worried about him taking it to heart.

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, Dean wonders if the line has gone dead. He nods to Kevin – the kid who lives in the apartment below him – as he passes him in the lobby, before striding out the door of the building, grinning at the poor guy when he notices his Mom running after him, a few extra textbooks in her hand, as if he wasn’t already loaded down with enough.

“Sam? You still there?”

Dean hisses a little as he steps out into the frosty morning air; it’s much colder than it was yesterday. He wishes he’d thought to bring some gloves.

“…Dean, is this because you don’t want everyone to know about you… liking guys?”

Dean stops dead in his tracks, almost dropping the phone. Unfortunately, he is in the middle of a busy street, and he only narrowly avoids an oncoming bus, jumping to the safety of the sidewalk just in time.

“Dean, what was that?!” Sam cries, having heard the bus’s blaring horn and several other drivers angrily shouting obscenities. “Are you okay?”

“Sam, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean grits out, continuing his march towards the car, parked a few streets away because living in the city is a bitch. He’s steadfastly ignoring the newly found blush staining his cheeks. He hears Sam let out a sigh and wraps his jacket tighter round himself to block out the cold.

“Dean, look it’s okay!” Dean makes a sort of yelping scoff-noise, alerting several suit-clad passers-by. He can’t quite believe this is happening to him. Especially _right now._ “I don’t care at all! Actually, I think it’s great. I kinda suspected a bit… y’know, with the whole ‘Dr Sexy M.D’ obsession… and that time I caught you in your room with that picture of a guy in an army uniform-”

“Okay, Sam! Jeez!” Dean practically yells, and he’s at his car now, so he ducks quickly into the sanctuary of the Impala, cutting himself off from the world, her sweet leathery smell never failing to put him right at ease. “How did you even…?”

Dean trails off, leaning forwards until his forehead is pressed against the icy metal of the steering wheel. “Oh, actually Jo confirmed it for me. She didn’t mean to or anything, so don’t have a go at her, I was just asking about you, and… she said you weren’t seeing anyone but that you were flirting a little with this guy that comes in to the Roadhouse now and again.”

Dean thinks about the ‘guy that comes in now and again’ - his name is Benny. In reality he’s not Dean’s type at _all,_ but he’ll take what he can get. It’s not like attractive single gay guys are a common occurrence in his everyday life. Plus, the guy is kinda hot in a beefy, ‘bear’ kind of way.

“This is… this is not good.” Dean says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The car feels the same as it always has, which is comforting, but Dean’s world is closing in on him. Sam _knows?_ Does that mean Jess knows? Probably, he reasons. Those two are like a two-headed beast – you can’t tell one something and expect the other not to immediately know about it.

Dean’s finding it difficult to breathe. He’s been comfortable with his sexuality for years, but that’s around _friends._ Not Sam, or… other family, God no. He shudders at the very idea. When he’s with his family he has a specific role to play, always has done. He has to be strong-Dean, player-Dean, the bordering-on-womaniser, the loveable rebel. He has no idea how to act around them now. This wedding is going to be a nightmare, he thinks.

“What?” Sam is asking, shocking Dean out of his miserable inner spiral. “It isn’t?! Dean, don’t worry, oh God, have I done something terrible?” Sam sounds genuinely distraught, and Dean wants to comfort him, but he can’t help feeling like Sam knowing this is a really huge mistake. “Dean, look I won’t tell anyone, okay? Not if you don’t want me to. I mean, I told Jess… but she won’t tell either I swear! You don’t have to bring anyone. God, Dean I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just want you to be happy! I want to see you as happy as I am – I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wouldn’t want me to find out-”

“Woah, hold on!” Dean interrupts before Sam can give himself a brain haemorrhage. “…You really don’t care? I mean, you don’t… think of me any different?”

Sam pauses, as if trying to determine if this is a trick question. “…No. Of course not. Why would I? It’s just guys instead of girls. Hell, maybe one day I can get a new brother in law.”

Dean actually balks at this information, silently sending all his prayers out to whatever liberally minded teachers and college friends pushed Sammy through his law degree. “Wow. Um. Thanks, Sammy. That means a lot actually.”

“Yeah, no problem Dean. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Just get your ass down here already would you?”

Dean smiles, and shakes his head, blinking away really stupid tears. “Okay then. Love you, Sammy. I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you too, you big girl.”

Dean stares out of the windscreen for a few long moments after the phone goes dead before he shakes himself, realising he’s probably monumentally late for work.

“Shit!” He exclaims, glancing at his watch and realising he needs to step on it.

* * *

 

“Well, look who decided to show up to work today!” Is the first thing Dean hears as soon as he walks in to the garage. He rolls his eyes at the familiar voice, smiling a little and heading straight for the row of pegs where the navy, particularly fetching oil-stained jumpsuits hang.

“What can I say, Jo? I’m guess I’m just a rebel at heart.” Dean turns and winks at the blonde-haired girl leaning against a Ford Fiesta, its hood popped open behind her, a disapproving smirk on her lips.

“You’re lucky I don’t report you, Winchester.” She says, shaking her head so that her ponytail swishes like a puppy’s tail. She turns back to the engine of the Fiesta, leaning in and unscrewing something in its murky depths.

Dean chuckles and shoves his feet quickly into the legs of the jumpsuit, pulling it on and zipping it as fast as possible. He checks around to make sure nobody else has taken much notice of his tardiness, and he lets out a sigh of relief. He seems to have gotten away with it this time. He breathes in the familiar smell of rust and oil, his muscles relaxing as he glances around the garage – this, he knows. This, he can handle. He saunters over to Jo, coming to lean over the hood with her, ignoring her eye-roll.

“If you report me, who’s gonna teach you all the tricks of the trade?” Dean asks, giving her a charming grin. She scoffs at him and turns to the toolbox at her feet, selecting a large rusty spanner.

“Well it sure as hell won’t be you!” She retorts, starting to fiddle about in the car’s innards as Dean watches, supervising. He pretends to be insulted. “The only thing you do is stand there moaning about your love life and gossiping about all the customers. Shameful.”

Dean grins at her, chuckling slightly at the look of intense concentration on her face. A voice in the back of his mind reminds him that it was Jo who effectively _outed_ him to his own brother not too long ago, but she didn’t know. So Dean doesn’t mention it.

“You love it.”

Jo grins up at him, her cheeks a little flushed from the exertion. “Hmm, maybe. It’s hardly gonna help me move up from ‘trainee’ though is it?”

Dean laughs at that and moves around her to the toolbox, selecting a larger, adjustable spanner to make things easier for her. He hands it to her and she smiles at him gratefully. “You’re doing great! Rufus’ll be so impressed when he sees what you’ve been doing he’ll hire you on the spot.”

Jo makes a ‘hmmph’ sound, but continues working. Dean loves it when Jo works here, which is quite often nowadays. She provides a much needed relief from the heavily masculine ‘beer, women and cigarettes’ talk of the other mechanics. Jo doesn’t put up with it, delivering her views on the misogynistic way the guys talk almost as soon as she stepped through the door, much to their chagrin. Dean had needed to hide his laughter several times on Jo’s first day; when the guys had heard they were getting a girl trainee they probably thought they’d get some flimsy bimbo to ogle and show off in front of. What they actually got was Jo, as feisty as she is brilliant and determined at every job she’s given. After she’d threatened two of the guys with groin punches and pepper spray when they hit on her in the early days of her training, they basically started to leave her alone. Except Dean of course, but then, he’s not very likely to warrant a punch to the groin for trying to get in her pants is he?

Their relationship is of course strengthened by the fact that Dean knows and works for Ellen, Jo’s mom. Dean usually gives Jo a lift to the Roadhouse after they finish at the garage; that way his mind is at ease, and he’s also in her mom’s good books. Not that he would ever dream of using his friendship with Jo as a means of getting his Event Planning business off the ground, but he can’t deny it helps that Ellen is getting stories of what an awesome guy he is fed to her over the breakfast table every morning.

* * *

 

By the time lunch rolls around Dean is starving. He’s changed five tyres this morning and is still trying to mend the damn Ford Fiesta with Jo. Some idiot’s done a number on that poor baby. Dean winces in sympathy for it whenever he looks at the melted turbines.

He tells Jo that he’s heading to the local fast food joint to pick himself up a burger, and asks if she wants anything. With an order of a skinny one-pump latte and a garden burger for his strange, feisty little friend, he heads down the street, teeth chattering as soon as he’s away from the heat of the dying engines.

He’s just finished ordering the burgers when his phone starts ringing again, and it takes Dean an embarrassing, numb-fingered fumble down the front of his jump suit in order to reach the damn thing. He doesn’t bother looking at the caller, thinking it will probably be Sam again.

“Hello?” He says, handing over a ten dollar bill to the guy behind the counter, cheerfully sporting a nametag that reads ‘Alfie’ over his red and white pinstripe uniform, Dean can’t help but notice.

“Dean…” A crackly voice pours out of the phone, and Dean’s heart immediately sinks.

“Oh, hey Dad.”

John Winchester chuckles darkly on the other end of the line, and Dean thinks how different things must look back home compared to here, in this garishly bright diner with grease in the air.

“You sound sooo happy to see- to hear m- my voice.” John is stumbling over his words, and it doesn’t exactly take a genius to work out he’s drunk. Dean closes his eyes, silently praying for this not to be happening.

“Course I am, Dad.” Dean grits out, grabbing the paper bag filled with burgers and drinks so harshly that Alfie’s signature smile wavers a bit. Dean grimaces in apology to the guy and heads back outside, barely noticing the cold against how hard his heart is pounding. A horn blares in the busy road beside the pavement he’s walking on. “What’s up?”

He hears heavy breathing for a few seconds, and then a disgruntled noise. “You at that no-good car shop again, boy?”

Dean ploughs forwards into the crowd, pushing through the lunchtime crush of people filling the narrow sidewalk, and ignoring the shouts of ‘hey!’ directed at him. He just needs to get back to the garage, to see Jo, to get in the warm, to eat something…

“Yeah, what of it?”

“I thought I told you to quit that fuckin’ poor man’s job.” John spits down the line, and Dean swallows down a bolt of rage. He hears a hiss and a snap, like a can opening. “It’s fuckin’ _embarrassing_ telling people my own son is a grease monkey.”

“Dad, did you ring me up just to bitch at me about my job?” Dean asks, and he fights to keep his voice level. He looks around for a second, momentarily disoriented, which is nonsensical because he’s worked at the garage for well over five years now. He must have gotten distracted, taken a wrong turn. Fuck.

John continues on as though Dean hadn’t spoken. “And they ask about Sam, and I say ‘oh yeah, Sam’s great, he’s a lawyer in New York City. He’s getting married to a great girl.’ But what can I say about you?” Dean whirls around, searching frantically for street signs, anything. The top of the paper bag has become crumpled to a pulp in his hand. He wants to tear the phone away from his ear, because he’s heard this before, and it’s stupid to listen to it, like having it drilled into you. But he can’t help it. This is his Dad, the person who he’s supposed to make proud. “You’re a delinquent who ran out on his family, a high school drop-out who became a fucking _mechanic_ and a _waiter-_ ”

“Dad, stop it!” Dean cries, interrupting, and he heads towards a street he thinks looks vaguely familiar. He feels a spot of something wet and cold on the hand holding the burgers and he realises it’s snowing. Fucking fantastic. “I’ve told you over and over about my business, you just never listen to me-”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Dean! _Party planning_? You expect me to believe you’re actually following through with that horse shit?” John’s cruel tone is enough to get Dean blinking back hot tears, which he hates himself for. “You and I both know that you’ve given up on every damn crazy thing you’ve thought up. Sammy’s the one with the dedication, with the ambition – you keep going like you are you’re just gonna end up miserable, dirt poor, no education – and you can forget about women Dean-o.”

John is chuckling now, and Dean has to stop walking, meandering over to a nearby brick wall and slumping against it, letting the snow fall in a flurry around his face.

“I know you might not have any trouble right now, Dean, you’re young. You’ve got the looks. But you think any girls are gonna be interested in you when you’re fifty, with a beer gut and still wearing a jumpsuit?”

Dean looks down at the jumpsuit he’s wearing helplessly, the word ‘Dean’ embroidered in bold white lettering across the heart. He’d loved it at first, couldn’t wait to wear it. He was so proud; a part of the team, accepted finally. Now he wants to tear it off and throw it in that slush filled gutter by his feet. A blonde man in a charcoal suit stares up at his tortured expression as he walks by, his face the picture of apprehensive curiosity.

Dean thinks of Sam, as he always does when he’s at his lowest. His Dad is still breathing on the other end of the line, waiting for Dean to reply. He thinks of how Sam told him not that long ago that he accepted Dean totally for who he was. How great it had felt, like a tremendous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Sam didn’t care that he liked guys, didn’t even care that he’d kept it quiet. He just wanted to see his brother happy, and dammit that’s the kind of thing that’s going to have Dean blubbering like a baby.

 _If Sammy can be that accepting, why can’t Dad_ , Dean thinks miserably. He’d take anything from the guy, a glimmer of hope on the other end of the line when he mentioned his own business, anything. He can forget about telling his Dad what he told Sam today, the guy would probably have a coronary. He doesn’t want to imagine the things he’d say.

He stares down at the snow gathering into a greyish sludge already around the edges of the pavement, just wishing for this to stop. For some relief from his Dad’s endless torment. He’s never going to be good enough, it seems.

And then Dean suddenly thinks, to hell with it. His Dad hates the way he is now, it’s hardly going to matter if Dean admits everything and it makes it worse is it? Hell, John might accept it, might marvel at Dean’s bravery in coming out suddenly. He could tell his Dad and it could bring them closer somehow.

Suddenly he just needs to say it. He needs to stop the lies, the women he pretends to love so that his Dad will lay off him a little while longer. He needs his Dad to see that he’s his own person, he has his own thoughts and feelings, he’s not just some hollowed out shell desperately trying to slink around in his and Sam’s shadow.

“Dad, I’m gay.” Dean blurts, and he wonders if that’s a snowflake or a tear he can feel on his cheek. A woman passing by with a blanket-wrapped child in her arms looks up at him when he says this, and she smiles. Dean smiles back at her, surprised, and then she’s gone. “So, uh,” Dean continues quickly, not waiting for a response from his father, “I guess that kind of clears up the problem about no women wantin’ me, huh?”

“You little shit, you think that’s _funny_?” John hisses, and Dean is surprised at the venom in his voice. He wants to start moving again, Jo will be wondering where he’s got to, and this cold brick is seeping through the fabric of his shirt and jumpsuit.

“Uh, no Dad. I don’t think it’s funny, I think it’s who I am. Who I’ve always been.” Dean replies, wincing a little when it sounds like something out of a pre-teen drama.

“Oh for Christ’s- Dean what in the hell do you take me for?” John asks, and Dean struggles to hear through the slurs. _An alcoholic, child-abusing prick?_ Part of him wants to say.

“Look, Dad, I should have told you before, I get that, but I’m not gonna apologise-”

“You expect me to believe this isn’t just another one of your foolhardy, egotistical ideas?” John exclaims, and Dean is honestly a little speechless at that. Is he serious? “God, you just love to think of yourself as the centre of everything don’t you? Dean, if your mother were here…”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ bring Mom into this!” Dean yells, and suddenly he’s walking again, pushing past everyone trundling by on the pavement, their collars turned up against the blizzard. Dean is a little surprised at his own reaction, but it seems to have bought him a few moments of stunned silence. “Jeez Dad, I don’t know how much you’ve had today - though I can guess at around a keg full - but you honestly think that I would _make up_ a lie about my own sexuality just for attention? Attention from _you_?!”

“Wait till Sam hears about this… he’ll be so disappointed. He looks up to you, Dean.”

“Sam already knows, Dad.” Dean says with pride, and a part of him punches his fist in the air when John Winchester is once again speechless. “And he’s fine with it. Because family are supposed to love you no matter what.”

John sucks a breath in through his teeth. Dean lets out a tiny exhale of joy when he sees he’s on the street of the garage at last. “Lying to me is one thing, Dean. But lying to Sam… We both know you’re gonna grow out of this little phase as soon as your done dicking around _ruining_ your brother’s wedding with your casual references to your newly found, faggy lifestyle. Don’t try and pretend like it’s some noble feat, that you’re coming out of the closet after all this time, suddenly eligible for a damn civil partnership.” Dean’s teeth clench together and he almost stops walking. “I bet you haven’t even got a _guy_ in all this have you?” John lets out a throaty chuckle and Dean’s mouth goes dry. “Have you ever even _been with_ a guy? Or did you decide this new found _sexuality_ while doing a little experimental browsing one day?”

“Actually I do.” Dean says, louder than is probably necessary. He walks into the garage at last, and his face must look murderous because two guys actually scurry out of his path. He throws down the now sodden paper bag on a wooden bench nearby and runs a hand through his snow speckled hair. “Have someone, I mean. A guy. A- a boyfriend I guess you could say.”

“…I see.” Dean can hear John’s smirk. He still thinks he’s making the whole thing up. “Will I get to meet this mysterious man of yours?”

“Of course. At the wedding.” Dean grits out before he can stop himself. “We’ll see you there, Dad.” He says icily, and without another word, he hangs up the phone.

It takes just three short seconds before the enormity of what he’s just done comes crashing down. He falls to the floor beside the bench, his knees pressed against his chest as he buries his face in his hands and groans deeply. Jo is by his side in an instant, shooting a ferocious glare at the one mechanic daring to chuckle at Dean’s lack of bravado.

Jo wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in towards her as she kneels beside him. “Dean? Oh shit. What happened?”

Dean relaxes into her embrace a little, thanking God for putting her into existence. “Oh, fuck.” Dean groans quietly, “Jo, it’s really bad.”

“Hey, shh.” Jo soothes, stroking a hand down the back of his head as he leans against her shoulder. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out, okay? Just take it from the top. We’ve got all day, Dean-o.”

Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath in, but decides that she can either help or she can’t. Either way, she needs all the info. He opens his mouth, and tells her about the stupidity of answering his phone before looking at the caller ID while buying burgers.

* * *

 

“That _asshole!”_ Jo is saying, and whilst Dean might usually rip her a new one for trash talking his Dad, right now he is in complete agreement. “Ugh! No wonder you said that! I would have, too! Imagine not _believing_ you just cause… well for no fucking good reason!”

Dean can’t help but chuckle a little at Jo’s rage. Talking to Jo has actually made him feel a little better. I mean, he’s still in a world of shit, and he probably won’t be able to talk to his Dad ever again at this rate, but at least he’s got Jo on his side. And if there’s one thing Dean can be sure of, it’s that Jo Harvelle is on the side of the good-guys.

Dean stares into the abyss of the truck’s bonnet, spotting at least three faults immediately, which isn’t fun, but will keep him occupied at least. Well, it would have, but Jo seems to have spotted them too, and she’s currently leant over the biggest of the three, tightening and twisting with her nimble fingers.

Dean lets out a sigh, and tries to slam a wall down in his mind against all the shit his Dad was trying to drum into him with that phone call. Does he really flake out on everything? Is that how people see him? As someone who just gives up on everything he’s ever tried? He dropped out of high school sure, but he always knew schooling didn’t agree with him. He’s pretty sure his teachers threw a party once he left. He also tried working at his Dad’s business for a bit, helping John manage his chain of stores, selling guns, knives and other less-completely-legal weapons. Just the kind of thing Dean is morally opposed to. He’d quit after three months when a guy shot his own wife with one of the pistols he’d bought in their Indiana store.

The event-planning is something he’s been working on for years, and he’s been trying to get his name out there in every way he knows how. He’s even done a little bit of work here and there, and his clients are always so impressed, but he’s just one guy, and he doesn’t have many contacts yet.

Now his Dad is actually suggesting he’s going to give up on being gay? That’s so absurd Dean can’t even wrap his head around it. He supposes maybe it’s partly his fault for parading Lisa Braeden around in front of his father last time he was up there visiting, but she was pretty and nice, and he knew it would stop his Dad from laying into him too deeply. He still feels awful about Lisa, given that he had to tell her he was gay in order to end it with her. She wasn’t too pleased about having her time wasted.

So it looks like now Dean is going to have to prove his homosexuality to his father with his wonderful, long-term, committed boyfriend which- oh yeah! -he doesn’t have.

Dean groans again, resting his forehead against the arm holding up the bonnet of the truck. Jo looks up, concerned again. “Jo, this is so, so bad. What the hell am I gonna do? Where am I gonna find a guy - in less than a week - that’s willing to pretend we’re hopelessly in love to satisfy my homophobic, alcoholic Dad?”

“Hmm…” She taps the handle of the spanner she’s holding against her pointed chin, “so – don’t get mad – I’m guessing you’re completely against any ideas of telling him the truth-”

Dean’s ferocious glare cuts her off before she can continue that train of thought.

She chews her lip, and for a second Dean thinks it’s because she has no clue what to tell him. Then he recognises the expression on her face. It’s half-consideration, half-anxiety. “Well….”

Dean pounces on the idea that hasn’t even tumbled from her lips, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her so desperately that she giggles. “What? You got an idea? Don’t hold out on me, girl.”

Jo smiles, her internal debate seeming to crumble under the weight of Dean’s desperation. “Well, okay.” She breaks free of his grasp and turns back to the engine, screwing and tugging impatiently while she talks. “So last year at prom, this guy called Gary Frankel – total nerd – he showed up in a tux with this fuckin’ _gorgeous_ woman on his arm, she’s gotta be at least twenty-two, right?”

Jo looks up to make sure Dean is following the tale, and he nods slowly, wondering if this story could possibly have any relevance to his current plight. It’s a nice distraction though. “Yep. Don’t swear. Go on.”

Jo rolls her eyes, but turns back to the engine and continues. “Yeah, she’s like in this skin tight black dress, short blonde pixie cut, looks like she’d gut you if you tried to feel her up during a slow dance but whatever.” Jo clears her throat, and Dean listens on, amazed. “Anyway, the night goes on and people are like, congratulating Gary, asking how he got her, and he says, ‘she fought her way out of Hell for me’. Weird, right? And then after a while it turns out-” Jo barks a sudden laugh, making Dean’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “-she spiked the punch with tequila _,_ so she and Gary get _kicked out_ of prom and we all think he’s the new coolest kid in school.”

Dean wonders if that’s the end of the story, but Jo straightens up, having finished doing whatever she was doing, and wipes her oily hands down the front of her jumpsuit.

“That’s when his _Mom_ shows up, looking for him, screaming about how he’s spent two grand on an escort for his prom.” Jo leans back against the car beside Dean, raising her eyebrows a little to see if the point has hit home yet. “And as it turns out, this Gary kid got the girl – I think her name was Mel, Meg? Meg, yeah that’s it – off some escort site where you can hire women _or men_ to be your date and they’ll pretend whatever you want. Obviously he got a bad one, cause she kinda ruined his night with the tequila and shit- I mean _stuff,_ but from what I hear their service is generally quite reputable.”

Dean side eyes Jo warily, unable to comprehend what she is inferring.

“So… what you’re essentially saying is… I gotta get me a hooker?” Dean asks, disbelieving, and Jo makes an exasperated sound. Dean chuckles and pushes off from the car, about to make his way towards one of the other guys, and back into sanity-land. “Thanks for the help, Jo. But I think I’m better off brainstorming alone on this one.”

* * *

 

Dean rolls his eyes when he sees Jo slamming down a tray on the un-cleared table next to his. He tries to gather up the plates and glasses on his own table as quickly as possible, but Jo is determined, and they end up clearing at exactly the same speed.

“I’m just _saying,_ don’t write it off. I know escorts have a bad name-” Jo starts to say, but Dean scoffs loudly, almost knocking over a beer glass. “-but me and some friends took a look at the website after everything went down – just for the laughs y’know - and… I gotta say, it looks legit.”

Dean gives her an exasperated look and lifts his laden tray easily, turning to head back to the kitchen without another word. He exchanges a glance with Ellen behind the bar as he goes, and she inclines her head sharply, indicating he needs to spend a little while serving drinks. Dean winks at her mischievously in reply, earning him an eye-roll. He’s just pushed his way into the steam clouded kitchen, plunking the tray down by the sink for the kid  (a guy named Ash, sporting a mullet and a twenty-years-too-late love of heavy metal) to wash up when Jo saunters in after him.

“Oh for Christ’s- Jo, look you’re not even supposed to be working tonight!” Dean cries, trying to dodge past her as she scowls at him. He pushes through the door and back into the floor of the restaurant, heading over to the bar, Jo hot on his heels. “Go do your homework or something. I appreciate the help, but honestly-”

“Dean, will you stop being so pig-headed for a second?!” Jo interrupts, and Dean smiles apologetically at a customer he was about to serve. Ellen chuckles at Jo’s exclamation as she pours a beer for a customer. He’s behind the counter with Ellen now, but Jo has followed him, seemingly because she wants to make his life hell, and he glares. “All I’m asking is that you take a look. It could be the answer to all your troubles!”

Dean doesn’t respond, choosing instead to face the customer in front of him and take the order. He busies himself with memorising the drinks and getting glasses, thinking that he might have succeeded in getting Jo to leave him alone. Then he feels something being slipped into his jeans pocket.

“Just take a _look._ ” Jo whispers in his ear, and then she’s gone. Dean looks up, ready to retort, but finds only Ellen’s grinning face instead. He finishes the drinks order, weary and unable to summon up the strength to chastise her any longer.

“Something I need to know about?” Ellen asks over the cheerful hubbub of chatter from the customers. Dean smiles, pouring three shots of tequila for the gentleman in front of him.

“I’m sure you’ll hear about it later.”

Ellen lets out a hearty chuckle, and Dean thinks that it’s probably her loud, lively attitude that ever attracted customers to the Roadhouse in the first place.

* * *

 

(Chapter One, Part One: The Phone Call)  

 

                                                                                       

(Chapter One, Part Two: An Escort Boyfriend)

 

(Artwork by [Minteey](http://minteey.deviantart.com/)).

 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a long week for Castiel Novak. He arrives home very late, just after one in the morning, and tugs at the tie around his neck, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. His date was clingy tonight to say the least, and he had struggled to get the appropriate payment from her at the end of the evening. Thank goodness she seemed too chaste to require any extras, Castiel thinks, though of course he shouldn’t.

There was nothing wrong with her per se, she was just… a lot to handle. She had a fair few obsessions with ‘shipping’, something Castiel knew absolutely nothing about until tonight; now he’s pretty sure he’s the world’s greatest expert. Becky had wanted a date to take to her high school reunion, to show off to all the people who had ever teased her in her teenage years apparently. Castiel was brilliant, he knows, because this is his job, and he’s pretty sure everyone in that gaudily decorated gym – who even hangs paper chains anymore? – left thinking he and Becky were hopelessly in love, and that she lucked out big time.

Of course, it’s Castiel’s job to make the girl – or guy – in question feel special too, and he is certain that Becky felt treated like a princess tonight, which is lovely in a way, but Castiel is mildly concerned he may have gotten himself a stalker. He drew the line at giving her his real home address or personal details – something he’s strictly forbidden to do anyway. At the end of the day, this was a business transaction, she was just another client, and he provided a service which she paid a great deal of money for. That’s how Castiel prefers to think of what he does anyway, in clinical, business terms, with a bonus of making the people he escorts feel good about themselves.

Helping people, that’s his thing.

He sighs as he undresses, hanging up his suit neatly and climbing into his perfectly made bed. He has to go in to the office tomorrow, something he hates doing, despite seeing its necessity. He has to go in at least once a week, to check in with his boss, Crowley, a pompous, sarcastic, cruel man with far too much self-importance.

Crowley would require a detailed update about the date this evening, and Castiel would need to go through his expenses, whilst of course watching Crowley like a hawk to ensure he didn’t try to skimp on his wages. Heck knows, the guy has done it before.

His mind swarming with the unfamiliar, surprised faces of Becky’s high school friends as they saw him holding her arm for the first time, he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

 

Castiel wakes up in his plain, airy, coffee-coloured bedroom feeling a little melancholy. He tries to shrug it off; he often gets a bit down on the days he has to go in to the office, and he tells himself it’s only temporary. He busies himself with other things: cleaning his teeth, finding a suitable shirt and pants, making coffee. But the same thoughts start to prey on his mind like they always do; the same old feelings of dissatisfaction creep under his skin as he drinks his coffee and grabs a yoghurt before going to slip on his shoes.

He can’t help but feel like, despite this job being extremely handy, and paying well, he just wants something _more_ than this. Sure he’s fine for now, but he always has a niggling sensation in the back of his mind that he could be doing better, helping people in bigger, more meaningful ways. And he hasn’t even bothered trying to look for someone romantically since he started at the company – after all, who would be interested in starting a relationship with a guy that goes out on dates with other people as a career?

Not to mention his… extra services. He’s pretty sure any romantic partners wouldn’t look too kindly on that. Castiel sighs and pulls on a coat, glancing out of the large window in his living room, and suppressing a groan at what he sees. It’s snowing, of all things, and Castiel is less than thrilled about having to walk to the office in this weather. He considers getting the bus for a moment, his front door key twiddling anxiously in his hand, but he dismisses the idea, telling himself it’s a waste of money. It’s not that far away. He heads back into the kitchen, wrapping his beige trenchcoat tightly around himself in preparation for the oncoming freeze.

He drains the last of his coffee, still on the counter, grimacing at the bitter taste of the granules pooled at the bottom, and opens one of the drawers. Thinking of the time, he hurriedly pulls out the brown envelope containing the large wad of dollar bills he had eventually managed to coax out of Becky last night.

He thinks about not double-checking it, but that would go against his nature, so he stops for a minute or so, counting the bills as he flicks through them carefully. When he’s certain there’s a total of two thousand dollars, the standard amount for one evening in his company, he finally heads out of the door, locking it behind him and shoving the cash into the deep pocket of his coat.

* * *

 

He arrives at Heaven & Hell Escorts dripping wet, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He’s definitely getting the bus next time, he thinks, no matter how much his logical mind tries to talk him out of it. He heads immediately towards the elevator on the left of the lobby, ignoring the one on the opposite side. He runs a hand through his thoroughly dishevelled hair, and nods to Bela, the startlingly beautiful yet snide receptionist, who waves him through with a cruel smirk at his current appearance.

He feels much better once he’s safely inside the lift, on his own again, away from prying eyes. He sniffs a little at the gaudy decoration of the elevator’s interior as he always does, the walls painted in varying shades of baby blue, complete with fluffy white clouds and tiny flitting cherubs.

There are twinkling lights on the ceiling that cleverly spell out the words ‘Flight to Heaven’, and the floor is more clouds, painted white with tinges of blue to give it a puffy look. It’s all very gimmicky, and Castiel doesn’t really care for it at all, though he is impressed with the upkeep, as there are barely any shoe smudges to be seen, as you would expect in an elevator, even on the glaringly white tile.

He vaguely remembers when he first started working here, when his curiosity had got the better of him and he decided to try out the other elevator across the lobby from this one. That one’s interior was startlingly different; the walls were blood reds and garish oranges, painted to look like flames licking at you from all sides. Disfigured, monstrous faces leered at him from every angle, and the red lights studding the ceiling spelled out ‘Ascent to Hell’. If Castiel hadn’t been so disturbed by it all, that might have irritated him. Because everyone knows you _descend_ into hell, you don’t get a lift up to it.

From then on, Castiel had decided to stick to using the Heaven lift, much to Bela’s amusement.

He gets out at the very top floor, where Crowley’s office is situated, right at the back of a large, mostly empty room. The walls are almost completely obscured by enormous bay windows, making it seem as though he is standing in one of those revolving restaurants as opposed to being on the top floor of an office building. To Castiel’s left as he steps out of the lift is the small-ish waiting area, reserved for customers and the company’s employees as they await their appointments with Crowley. It’s empty now, and Castiel is glad, though he suspects he won’t need to wait long before the others show up. To his right sits a fairly modest wooden desk, and this, Castiel knows, is where Chuck sits day after day, stressing over every impossible task Crowley shouts through the intercom at him, secretly drinking from the bottle he keeps in his left hand drawer, and generally wasting away his life.

Chuck sees Castiel walk in and immediately gets flustered, turning to pull up something on his computer quickly, presumably checking him in.

“Oh! Hi Castiel.” Chuck says in a distracted voice, throwing some papers around until he finds the one he’s looking for. He holds it out in Castiel’s general direction, putting a false smile on his face. It’s a form that Castiel recognises, a basic monitoring system of his expenses. He’ll need to fill it out and hand it back to Chuck before he leaves.

Castiel reaches for it and smiles widely, taking note of the deep, dark circles etched under the man’s eyes. “Thank you, Chuck. I’ll get this back to you before I leave.”

Chuck nods, and then his monitor makes a sound like bells chiming. Chuck visibly starts at the noise, and scrambles about until he finds his headset, shoving it onto his head and pressing a key in response before the noise stops. Castiel watches, intrigued. He’s never seen Chuck do this part before.

“H-hi there valued customer, thankyou for choosing to… to um, to make your ascent into Heaven!” Chuck manages to spit out, and Castiel winces; he’s not good at this. “If you could just give me your name and telephone number to prove you’re human, and we’ll get right on with finding an Angel to fall for you!”

This obviously scripted dialogue is making Castiel want to run far away, but he is transfixed. This is the speech all of his customers go through before they arrange a date with him? He sees them all in a whole new light, suddenly. If he were coming to this site for the first time, he would have hung up long ago. At least he hopes he would have.

A few more details are exchanged between Chuck and the customer; Castiel finds himself becoming distracted.

“Thank you, Ma’am. Okay, if you’d like to wait by your screen I will connect you to our online Angel profiling system, where you can pick out the characteristics and we’ll find you a match made in Heaven!”

Chuck grimaces as he presses the end call button, and he rips off the headphones. Castiel can’t help but be a little amused, despite Chuck looking far more loathsome of himself than he did a moment ago.

“Prove they’re human?” Castiel asks, out of pure curiosity. “Is that entirely necessary?”

“I dunno, man. Crowley says I gotta say it exactly like that or he’ll roast my balls over his fake fireplace.”

Castiel gives him a sympathetic look, but Chuck is already distracted by another call.

“Hi there valued customer! Thankyou for choosing to succumb to your darkest desires in the depths of Hell. Sell me your soul, or just your name and phone number, and I’ll get on with finding your perfect little demon.”

Castiel chuckles, turning away. He does feel sorry for Chuck, but in a sense it’s his own fault. He aspires to be a writer, they’ve discussed it before – Chuck even has an immense storyline planned out, something to do with two brothers fighting monsters, if he recalls – but Chuck is never going to scrounge up the courage to tell Crowley he’s quitting, so Castiel can’t really help him. At least not until he finds himself a backbone.

Castiel is still feeling pretty wet and disgusting – he can’t wait to take his coat off – but he’s slightly cheered up now that he’s here, because this is his favourite part, where he’ll get to see Anna.

Sure enough, the door to Crowley’s office opens and Anna steps out, looking utterly defeated, her red hair a stark contrast as it falls around her pale, blood-drained features. Castiel hurries over to her, concerned. Chuck looks up from whatever he’s stressing over for a second to watch Castiel place a concerned hand on Anna’s shoulder.

“Anna!” He exclaims, and she looks up, joy flickering in her expression when she hears his voice. “Are you alright? Is Crowley upset with you?”

She smiles at him sadly, and his heart skips a beat, his mind jumping instsntly to the worst conclusions. Castiel starts to steer her away from the office, intending to lead her round to the left towards the ugly, art-deco sofas which make up the waiting area.

“Oh Castiel,” Anna sighs, and it brings despair to Castiel’s heart, “I’m so sick of this.” She slumps down onto one of the uncomfortable-looking black leather couches, their metal structures meaning she has to shift about for a few moments to find any sort of comfort.

Castiel sits gingerly beside her, placing a gentle hand on her knee. She smiles up at him again, and Castiel immediately gets the sense that this isn’t some temporary problem that can go away with a few kind words. He has to try though. “Tell me what happened, Anna.”

She sighs again, and slumps back against the chair, her auburn hair fanning out around her like a halo. “I’m just tired of working here, being treated like an object by men who only want- they only want…” Anna trails off, and Castiel’s heart lurches for her. “Last night I had a date with this guy, he’s been kind of aggressive when I’ve escorted him in the past, but last night things went badly. He couldn’t pay for…” Anna glances at Castiel, her cheeks colouring slightly. She raises her eyebrows at him, indicating what she means. “…you know. And he said I should just give it up anyway, that I’m a whore, and he’s a dedicated customer so why not, right?”

Castiel feels fury bubbling in his veins. He wants to find this man, he wants to hurt him, and that’s terrifying. Castiel isn’t a violent man by any means, but Anna, good, sweet Anna with her flirtatious winks and her bubbling laughter, she doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. “Anna, what happened?” Castiel practically whispers, and she looks away, hurt in her eyes.

“He tried… to… well. I got away, let’s just put it like that.” She holds up a wrist, and for the first time Castiel notices the angry red bruises encircling it, as if someone had gotten way too grabby.

Castiel wants to throw something, he wants to burst through Crowley’s door and demand revenge immediately, but Anna needs him, so he stays, his hand still on her knee. “And you told Crowley about this?”

Anna looks worriedly at him, and Castiel isn’t surprised. Even he can tell that judging by the anger in his own voice, he’s holding back a great deal. “Yes, but he told me that technically he didn’t violate the terms of my contract unless he actually did anything he didn’t pay for. He says he’ll take that client off my list, but he’s not going to report him or anything because he’s a paying customer.”

Castiel makes a disgusted noise, tearing his hand off Anna’s knee and wringing his own together, trying to stay in control. “That _monster.”_ Castiel growls, and he only calms when he feels Anna’s soothing hand rubbing across his hunched over back.

“Castiel, don’t. Please don’t say anything, I’ve already discussed it to the point where he threatened to fire me. I need this job. God help me, I do. I hate it here, but I have no other options right now, so just…” She breaks off, leaning forwards and moving her head until she’s in Castiel’s line of sight – quite a difficult feat given that he’s leant forward over his knees - and it makes him chuckle. “…keep quiet okay?”

It takes a long time looking deeply into Anna’s hazel eyes before Castiel is able to nod.

* * *

 

“Castiel?” Chuck’s bordering-on terrified voice pipes up from behind him, and Castiel turns to look. “Crowley will see you now.” Chuck is nose deep back in his paperwork before Castiel can properly thank him for the information. Before he knows it, Anna is giving him an encouraging smile and sending him off in the direction of Crowley’s office. He tells her to wait for him to return, and that he won’t be long.

He knocks twice on the large mahogany door, its nameplate stating obnoxiously to all the world that inside resides ‘Crowley, King of Hell [& Heaven Escorts]’. Castiel hears a shout of ‘enter!’ in a bored British accent and twists the golden doorknob, pushing his way inside with trepidation.

Castiel has been in this office many times of course, he comes in almost every week in fact. It never fails to surprise him however, that it’s so… _pretentious._ Every time he leaves, he convinces himself that he must have imagined the obscenely luxurious, huge ornate false fireplace, its electric coals glimmering in a representation of actual fire. The desk in itself takes up the majority of the room, a monstrous dark oak panelled thing, with clawed feet digging grooves into what Castiel suspects is an extremely expensive patterned rug covering most of the hardwood floor. The desk provides a good few feet of distance between Crowley himself - seated behind the desk in a maroon leather armchair - and whoever has deigned to visit him, and Castiel highly doubts that is an accident.

Castiel doesn’t bother greeting Crowley, he knows better than that by now. Instead he crosses to the one seat in front of the desk, quite a low, wooden chair that allows Crowley to look down on him adequately. Castiel suspects that all of this elegance is undoubtedly compensating for something, and that something is almost definitely the man’s height. Crowley is writing something down, his quill – yes, that’s right  _quill –_ dancing to and fro as he scratches something across a piece of paper, muttering quietly.

Castiel waits, staring out of the window to his left, and marvelling at the wasted view of the entire city stretching out into the horizon. He thinks he might be waiting for a long time at this rate; Crowley isn’t exactly known for his good treatment of his employees, despite the fact they’re the ones making all the money. Castiel chuckles darkly, remembering that Gabriel had once informed him that Crowley originally wanted to call the company ‘Heaven & Hell Hookers’ but he couldn’t get that past the unions. At length, Crowley seems to remember his existence.

“Ah,” he exclaims in an authoritative tone, glancing over at where Castiel is sat, a disinterested expression on his face, “uh, Castiel is it?” He asks, looking down at a document nearby to check that is actually his name. Castiel rolls his eyes internally, wondering how long he’s worked here and if it counts as bad managerial skills that Crowley doesn’t know his name by now. “Right. Yes – one of my top gunners, aren’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Well, any problems, Castiel?”

Castiel clears his throat and Crowley glances up quickly before returning his attention to whatever he’s writing. “No, not at all.” Castiel lies, hating himself for having to pretend he isn’t seething with rage right now on Anna’s behalf.

Crowley notices nothing amiss and nods distractedly, not looking at him. “Good, good. So run me through your appointments this week?”

Castiel does so, listing each excursion he was paid for in a clear, business-like tone, absolutely certain that Crowley isn’t paying attention. He gets to the night with Becky, and Crowley glances up, turning to the computer screen over on his left and frowning.

“Becky? That’s Miss Rosen? Rebecca Rosen?” Crowley asks, and Castiel nods. “You’ve yet to wire me over that money Castiel, or even to send Chuck a confirmation you’ve received it or paid it in. I’m surprised at you.”

Crowley has put his pen down now, and is leaning back in his chair, one eyebrow raised. Castiel wonders what’s happening. Why does he suddenly have Crowley’s attention?

“No, Miss Rosen paid me in cash.” Castiel replies smoothly, and without further ado, he reaches into his pocket, drawing out the snow-spattered envelope. “I thought it would be easier to give this to you now rather than paying it in through the banking system.”

Crowley makes no move to receive the money when Castiel holds it out, so he stands up, placing it before Crowley on the desk before moving to sit back down. Crowley watches him intently the entire time, a smirk on his lips.

“I see.” He says at last, just when Castiel was starting to get uncomfortable. “Did you give Miss Rosen any extras, Castiel?”

Castiel tries not to let his eyes narrow in response. “No. Miss Rosen paid the required two thousand dollars, and then I said goodnight.”

It occurs to Castiel that the reason Crowley is staring at him like he’s interrogating a suspect is because he thinks Castiel is attempting to steal from him. Castiel tuts, he should have known, the only sure fire way to grab Crowley’s attention is to toy with the idea of him losing profit.

“Well, I sure hope you two had a dandy time.” Crowley replies, and in a flash of hand movements so fast Castiel struggles to see it, the envelope has been swept off the desk and into a drawer by Crowley’s side. “That will be all, Castiel. I will have Chuck email you your appointments in the week.”

Castiel blinks, trying to figure out what just happened, and he stands, walking to the door.

“Oh, and Castiel?” Crowley says, making him spin around, one hand on the doorknob. “Don’t be late with paying in your earnings again.”

Castiel nods, but Crowley has already turned away, and so he walks out of the door.

* * *

 

He tries not to groan when upon exiting Crowley’s office he sees that the ‘waiting area’ is now teeming with his co-workers. They all sit there, talking animatedly about nothing, arguing in some cases, and as always with a very clear divide between the Heaven workers (the ‘Angels’), and the Hell workers (the ‘Demons’). It’s just a stupid gimmick that Crowley made up one day, the whole Heaven and Hell thing, but for some reason - probably because whether you are placed in either Heaven or Hell is determined by a certain list of personality traits - it’s caused an actual rift between the employees of the company.

Castiel remembers when he was hired, how Crowley had looked him up and down, chuckled and told him that he was undoubtedly on the side of the Angels. So Castiel has been a Heavenly escort for all of his time here, and in some ways he is very glad of that fact. Especially now, as he saunters over to where several of his fellow ‘Angels’ are squeezed together on the leather seats, and eyes the ‘Demons’ opposite with a mildly disgusted expression.

Crowley’s favourite in the Hell gang has got to be Lucifer; a tall, angular-faced man with a wicked smirk, smouldering eyes and an attitude to boot. He swears blind that it’s his real name, and though no one in their right minds actually believes him, it means he gets his face on most of the posters for the Hell side of the company, and Crowley is able to tell his greedy customers that they’re able to hire ‘Satan himself’ for as long as they can afford.

Lucifer is sat in the centre of one of the couches now, his legs propped up on the sheer metal table in front of him, his boots dripping snow onto the iron. He’s got his two biggest fans stationed either side of him, as if they’d be anywhere else. Meg is on the right, her hands clasped together on Lucifer’s shoulder, her chin resting on top as she grins up at him, flirtatious and daring. When Castiel first saw Meg, she was a tiny slip of a thing, her white-blonde hair cut into a short, boyish style that accentuated her sharp, elfin features. She got tired of it somewhere along the way though, and one day she came in with dark wavy brown locks, and a nose and chin job that rendered her almost unrecognisable.

Castiel heard Crowley’s shouting when she went into his office that first day after the change, and it was clear he was livid with her for compromising his earnings by changing her appearance so drastically without consulting him. He couldn’t make out much of what was said, but he did hear Meg answer Crowley when he asked her what on earth had possessed her to do it. She’d just said ‘What can I say, I’m impulsive. I didn’t like the old Meg anymore, she was annoying. I doubt this is the worst thing that ever happened to her.’

On Lucifer’s left sits Ruby, and she holds more of his attention despite the fact she’s facing away from him, her arms crossed as she stares down at her smartphone, texting or doing something that must be pretty damn interesting judging by her concentration levels. Ruby is very beautiful, with long dark hair and big, full lips. Men like Ruby a lot, and she’s probably the most sought after female ‘Demon’, which means she can pretty much get away with anything.

There are other Demons too of course, sitting in various spots, some being forced to slump on the floor as their unofficial leader has taken up residence on the couch. Azazel - who is sitting on the arm of the couch, rowing with Lilith, a pretty blonde with witchy eyes - catches Castiel staring and snarls in a particularly unattractive manner. Castiel turns back to his own party on the opposite couch. He sees Anna, still in her seat from before, now chatting with Gabriel. He walks over, a little apprehensive that Gabriel might be shoving his foot right into the mess Anna is currently dealing with, but Gabriel finishes whatever story he was telling and Anna laughs delightedly, slapping him on the wrist, probably for being crude, as usual.

“Hey, bro!” Gabriel greets, looking up at Castiel as he comes to stand before them both. “How’d it go with the big boss?”

“Hello Gabriel.” Castiel greets in return, and Gabriel grins, always finding amusement in his formality. “It went fine, nothing out of the ordinary. Thank you for keeping Anna company while she waited for me.”

Anna smiles up at him, and Gabriel lets out a chuckle. “No worries, Cassy. Got you covered there, anytime she needs to let out a few sniffles,” Gabriel directs his attention towards Anna now, leaning in very close so that she smirks, “I hear my shoulder is _very_ dry and warm.”

Castiel resists rolling his eyes, and wonders how he should interrupt this bizarre flirting session. Luckily, at that moment Chuck’s voice pipes up from behind his desk, shouting to compensate for the noise of all the new people in the room.

“Uh, Gabriel?”

“Present!” Gabriel shouts, and Anna giggles.

“N-no, Mr Crowley will see you now Gabriel. Sir.” Chuck says nervously, and Gabriel sighs, but gets to his feet. He turns once more towards Anna and holds out his hand until she places her own in it.

“Alas milady, I have been summoned to the King’s throne room. But I shall return to thee, at… some point. Probably. I’ll see you around, gorgeous.” Gabriel says, and then he places a delicate kiss upon her hand, before thinking better of it and giving it a snog, much to her amusement.

“Ew, Gabriel get out of here!” Anna cries, though she’s joking. Castiel rolls his eyes and Gabriel finishes, winking as he slinks off towards Crowley’s office.

Gabriel, oddly enough, is probably Heaven’s most popular Angel, perhaps on a par with Castiel himself, though he doesn’t like to brag. While most of the employees Castiel associates with in Heaven & Hell Escorts mostly wish they were doing something, anything, else – Gabriel deals with the perils of the job by taking the entire company as a huge joke.

He finds everything about it hilarious, from the ridiculous Angels/Demons premise it’s based upon to the strange hierarchy system amongst the employees, and even the staff – he can’t get enough of Chuck, teasing him at every opportunity, pretending Crowley is on the phone demanding to know where his Frappucino is. Chuck usually ends any day with Gabriel near tears.

This is the reason Gabriel chose his Angelic stage-name. You don’t have to have one; Anna doesn’t for instance, and – surprisingly – neither does Castiel. This is just the name he was blessed with. Or cursed, depending on how you want to look at it. Gabriel took one look at Lucifer in his tight leather trousers, his bad-boy stubble and his devil-may-care attitude and promptly cracked up laughing to the point where he had to mock him in whatever way possible. So Gabriel took on the role of the blessed Archangel who delivered the news of baby Jesus to an unsuspecting Mary, and makes up for it by being as crude and sarcastic as humanly possible, whenever he can. It infuriates Lucifer no end that Gabriel refuses to ‘play his role’.

Castiel glances down at Anna, still wiping the spit off the back of her hand. “Would you like to go for coffee, Anna?” Castiel asks, and Anna looks up, eyes brighter than he’d seen them earlier.

“Sounds great.” She replies, and before he can suggest they get a move on, Balthazar spins round from where he’d been sat at the other end of the couch to Gabriel and Anna, chatting with Mike and Zach.

“Can we get in on that, Cassy?” Balthazar asks, his suave British accent filling the room and earning him several scowls from the ‘Demons’. He flashes Castiel and Anna a grin that would melt the ice caps, and they find they have to reluctantly agree.

Castiel looks apologetically at Anna, his eyes signalling that he’s disappointed they won’t get to talk further about her current dilemma. Resigning himself to waiting for Balthazar, Mike, Zach and, let’s face it, probably Gabriel too, Castiel slumps down next to Anna and starts to fill out his expenses form.

* * *

 

Dean gets home at just after midnight, his muscles screaming at him as he stumbles through the door, exhausted. Ellen demanded he get home before closing, despite his protestations. She also gave him a slice of the cherry pie they had ‘left over’ and told him to eat it all up with something vaguely healthy or she’d find him and kick his ass. He chuckles at the thought, toeing off his sodden boots and throwing his jacket onto the moth-eaten couch.

He thinks Ellen might be developing a soft spot for him, and that’s perfect. He’ll take whatever she’ll give him in terms of affection right now. Dean slumps on the couch for a moment, debating whether he’s too tired to heat up the pie, or if he should take a shower, or maybe just climb into bed. His stomach rumbling makes the decision for him and he sighs, getting up stiffly and making his way to the kitchen, pie still in hand.

It’s only once he’s leant against the kitchen counter, chewing on the first warm, stickily sweet mouthful, his eyes rolling back at the incredible taste, that he remembers Jo slipping something into his pocket earlier. Reluctantly putting his pie down on the counter for a moment, he digs his hand into his jeans, pulling out a scrap of paper that he instantly recognises as being torn from the pad they scribble the orders down on.

On it, there is a website address underlined twice, and the following message:

_‘Check it out, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to get one, but I’m not seeing many more options here!’_

Dean smiles at Jo’s demanding tone, apparent even through her messy scrawl. He stares at the slip of paper thoughtfully, before placing it carefully down on the counter, and reaching again for his pie. Don’t get him wrong, he’s still abhorred by the idea of basically _buying_ some dude off a shady site that may or may not be legit. He’s never paid for a prostitute in his life, the closest thing being when he bought a couple of lap dances at a club – purely for research. He needed to find a stripper for a party he was planning. If he’d invested in an extra one for himself because he thought one of the dancers was giving him the eye… well, that’s his business.

Plus, the way Jo said ‘get one’ in her message makes it seem very much like these people – _escorts_ , Dean’s brain provides – are treated like objects, and that’s just not how Dean rolls. He likes a stripper as much as the next guy, but he’s not into the whole buying-people thing. It all seems really shady.

Then again, Dean’s mind pipes up, and he nearly groans as he swallows a mouthful of pie, like Jo said, he hasn’t got a whole load of options available to him here. If he had a bit more time, he probably wouldn’t even consider it. But, he has to admit, he wants to at least _look._

Dean finishes his pie, sweeping a moistened finger around the plate to wipe up any crumbs and deposit them into his mouth. He silently thanks whoever’s up there for giving Ellen such superb cooking skills, and makes a decision in his mind before he can stop himself.

A few minutes later he’s pulled off his shirt and jeans, grabbed his laptop and is sitting cross legged on the bed in front of it, waiting nervously for it to boot up.

As an afterthought, he rushes back into the kitchen, gritting his teeth against the cold air of his barely heated apartment. He spies the slip of paper quickly and grabs it, chucking his empty plate into the sink before making his way back to the bedroom.

When he pulls the site up, he laughs a little. It certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

**WELCOME TO HEAVEN & HELL ESCORTS**

**WHERE YOUR OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE IS GUARANTEED TO BE TO YOUR LIKING**

** ENTER HERE AND DECIDE YOUR FATE! **

Dean almost shuts the laptop right then. This website is clearly all kinds of ridiculous – is this a real company, he thinks? Who actually buys this Heaven and Hell crap?

He chuckles to himself and turns away, ready to get into bed and pretend like he never even considered such a preposterous idea, but Jo’s scrawled out message left on the bed beside him catches his eye.

_‘I’m not seeing many more options here!’_

Dean groans, and clicks enter.

**HEAVEN & HELL ESCORTS**

**WE HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR STAY**

**IN ORDER TO FIND YOU YOUR PERFECT COMPANION, YOU WILL NEED TO FILL OUT A SHORT QUESTIONNAIRE. THAT WAY, A TEAM OF OUR HIGHLY TRAINED AFTERLIFE EXPERTS WILL BE ABLE TO MATCH UP YOUR IDEAL ESCORT WITH AN ANGEL OR DEMON FROM OUR EXTENSIVE RANGE. WE’VE GOT ALL SHAPES AND SIZES, SO YOU NEEDN’T WORRY ABOUT FINDING ‘THE ONE’. WE’LL EVEN DO THAT PART FOR YOU!**

Dean kind of wishes he hadn’t read that. Too late now, he thinks, and he ploughs on.

**THE FIRST STEP IS ANSWERING THREE SHORT QUESTIONS SO WE CAN DETERMINE IF YOU WOULD RATHER SEEK HEAVENLY SALVATION, OR BE DAMNED TO HELL (IN THE BEST WAY).**

Dean outright laughs at that. Damned to Hell in the _best way?_ Granted, he’s never been to Hell, but if he had he’s pretty sure that it wouldn’t be full of sexy hookers in devil outfits like there probably are on this site. Escorts, he corrects himself. Not hookers.

***PLEASE NOTE THAT YOU CAN OVERRIDE THE PROGRAMME IF YOU CHOOSE AT THE END OF THE QUESTIONAIRE. E.g IF YOU ARE SENT TO HEAVEN AND WOULD RATHER BE IN HELL, THIS OPTION IS STILL AVAILABLE TO YOU.**

Dean chuckles again as he scrolls down, marvelling at the stupidity of whoever wrote this stuff. He stalls for a moment, fingers hovering over the keys, and decides to stop being a wimp and just do the damn questionnaire – it’s not like he’s signing his soul away is it? He can always just exit the site if he chickens out.

**FIRST QUESTION: HAVE YOU EVER LIED TO A ROMANTIC PARTNER IN THE INTEREST OF YOURSELF?**

**A.** **YES**

 **B.** **NO**

Dean just blinks at the screen, dumbstruck. He almost wants to find whoever created this stupid site and tear their throat out. How can it give him a question so pertinent to his own life? He didn’t want to have to lie to Lisa, but he was so tired, so done with his Dad’s never-ending disappointment. His gaze travels to the little ‘x’ at the corner of the screen but he swallows his pride, thinking of his Dad’s disgusted tone, and of Sam’s desperate plea for him to be happy. He grits his teeth and clicks ‘A’, moving on to the next question before he can change his mind.

**SECOND QUESTION: WAS YOUR FIRST SEXUAL EXPERIENCE AT A LEGAL AGE?**

**A.** **YES**

 **B.** **NO**

 **C.** **IT’S YET TO COME**

Dean’s mind stutters again, and he tries to block the memory before it floods his brain: him at fifteen, and Alastair, a nineteen year old rebel with cheekbones that could cut steel and a motorbike Dean had adored. He remembered how he’d get so flustered around the guy, his words stumbling over themselves because he wanted to make a good impression.

Alastair hadn’t even noticed him at first, but Dean had been determined, he’d done everything he could to get in with Alastair’s gang – smoking, cutting class, stealing, whatever they’d told him to do. And then Alastair started to see him, started send him the occasional grin, shove him playfully, touch him for a fraction of a second too long, so that Dean’s heart stuttered and he felt like he would explode.

One day Alastair had taken Dean down to the hidden bit behind the bleachers during school, while everyone else was in class. He was so nervous, his hands fumbling so much he could barely get Alastair’s fly open, but they’d jerked each other off, fast and messy, without looking. He remembered the shock of the hot spill of Alistair’s come across his hand, how Alastair had sworn and chastised himself for letting that happen, because what if they’d been caught?

Alastair had kicked him in the stomach, making him double up, groaning in pain when moments before he’d been whimpering and coming himself, into Alastair’s unskilled, calloused fist. He’d yanked Dean up by the collar then, called him a lousy poof, and warned him that if he ever told anyone what they’d done it would be his last words.

Alastair never spoke to him after that. It took a long time before Dean was able to get up the courage to do anything like that again.

At least he can rule ‘C’ out, he thinks miserably.

He clicks ‘B’ this time, his mouth a firm line.

**THIRD QUESTION: HAVE YOU EVER HAD YOUR HEART BROKEN?**

**A.** **YES**

 **B.** **NO**

Dean breathes out heavily, and a frown creases his forehead. He knows this one at least. You have to be in love to have your heart broken. Dean clicks ‘B’, glad that this section seems to be over for now.

As soon as the questionnaire is complete, the webpage starts to shake uncontrollably, and Dean bangs his laptop screen, thinking there’s something wrong with it. He watches, his concern melting away into scorn as a crack splinters across the page, obscuring the answers he just gave. It’s all still some part of this preposterous site, Dean thinks, sitting back a little to watch the pathetic attempts of a web designer gone awry.

Suddenly the entire page, all the text with it, is swallowed up by flickering red and yellow flames. He watches as his questionnaire disintegrates into nothing, and on the black background underneath, once the flames die away are the words ‘Welcome To Hell’, as if Satan scratched them there himself.

* * *

 

Dean gapes, wondering if this damn site is faulty, or if someone is messing with him. His answers got him into Hell?! He tries to calm himself down, telling himself it’s just a stupid questionnaire on an Escort site, but he can’t shake it off. This isn’t fair! The questions hadn’t left any room for him to explain the reasoning behind his transgressions.

He doesn’t want to go to Hell, he doesn’t want to bring a sultry, smouldering ‘Demon’ to meet Sammy, and Jess and his Dad and… oh God. No, he can’t let this happen.

Suddenly he remembers the footnote at the end of the first page. It had said that he could override this final judgement hadn’t it? Dean glances at the screen again, his heart pounding a little, and it’s all ridiculous he knows, because none of this is _real,_ but he can’t escape the feeling that his time is slipping away, and he needs to find a way out of this Hell deal pronto.

All at once he spots something in the bottom right hand corner, partially obscured by the flames that flicker at the sides of the screen every few seconds. He leans in closer, attempting to make out the tiny, faint words written there.

‘Want an Angel to pull you out? Click here!’

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, and hovers his mouse over the words hurriedly, wondering absently at exactly what point he decided he was really going through with the whole Escort-thing. He clicks the link, and guesses Jo must have had more of an influence on his decision-making than he’d thought.

Dean emerges from his musings as the screen fills with an image of swirling fluffy clouds against a blue sky, two pearly gates rising up from nowhere, and the words ‘Welcome to Heaven’ glowing into place in the centre.

He clicks on the gates warily, wishing he could just speed this ridiculous process up already, because his bed is calling, and he wasn’t even sure about this in the first place.

**CONNECTING YOU TO ONE OF OUR HIGHLY SKILLED AFTERLIFE EXPERTS…**

**WE WILL BE WITH YOU MOMENTARILY…**

Dean’s heart lurches as he sees his webcam pop open cheerfully, an image of his own horrified face staring back at him. He has to do a video chat with some tech guy? Nobody said anything about that!

He glances down at his semi-naked body, clad only in his briefs, and thinks about darting across the room to pull on a shirt, or a blanket or _anything_ , but at that moment, a tired voice sails out of his laptop’s speakers.

“Hello valued customer…” a sigh, and Dean sees the weary, dishevelled looking guy staring through his laptop screen for the first time, “thank you for choosing to make your ascent into Heaven.”

His voice is a tedious drone, and from the look on the poor dude’s face, he is contemplating suicide at even spitting the words out.

“Uh, no problem.” Dean replies, because he wants to be polite. He can’t help but feel really exposed in his current state of undress, though this miserable-looking man doesn’t seem particularly fazed. He’s probably seen a lot worse, Dean thinks, and grimaces.

“If you give me your name and telephone number to prove you’re human, I’ll get right on with finding an Angel to fall for you.”

“Wow, dude. Glad to know you’re totally pumped about it.” Dean chuckles, and the man gives him a glare in response. “It’s Dean. Dean Winchester.”

The man nods, and types something into a keyboard Dean can’t see. Dean rattles off his number, and asks if the guy has had a particularly bad day or what.

“Look, Sir, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been here all day and it’s past midnight, if we could just move this along? Just… let me do the terrible speech okay?”

Dean chuckles but makes a hand gesture, indicating that the guy should continue.

“Thank you. Okay, if you can give me the date, or dates you pray Heaven will send you an Angel for, I’ll make a note of it on the Heavenly scroll.”

Dean swallows down the sharp stab of uncertainty still lingering in the back of his mind, and tells him the dates of Sam’s wedding, realising that including arrival, the rehearsal, the bachelor party and the ceremony, he would be needing the Angel for a total of four days.

Chuck nods absently, typing it up on his out-of-sight keyboard. Dean swallows thickly, thinking of the price. Bye bye savings, he mourns.

“Okay then, luckily we have some Angels available over that time. Your overall price will be totalled up at the end of your transaction, and you won’t need to pay until the end of you and your Angel’s time together.”

Dean is a little relieved at that, at least he has some time to scrape together the cash from his different accounts.

“If you’d like to wait by your screen, I’ll connect you to our online Angel profiling system, where you can pick out the characteristics and we’ll find you a match made in Heaven.”

Dean lets out a burst of laughter, and he sees the guy smile on the other end, which is a small victory at least. “Seriously? _A match made in Heaven_? …I guess it’s kinda clever.”

The guy smiles at him and shakes his head, thanking him for calling and Dean reluctantly says goodbye. Poor idiot, he thinks. That’s gotta be one of the world’s worst jobs.

All too soon, Dean finds himself being directed to yet another page, with a fuckton of new information to read through. He groans, silently cursing Jo for finding this godforsaken site in the first place.

**WELCOME TO THE ANGEL PROFILING SYSTEM**

**ENTER YOUR IDEAL CHARACTERISTICS BELOW, AND WE’LL FIND YOU YOUR PERFECT ANGEL**

***PLEASE NOTE THAT OUR SELECTION OF ANGELS IS LIMITED TO THOSE AVAILABLE AT THE TIME OF YOUR BOOKING.**

Dean grimaces, and tries not to think about how disgustingly immoral this all is. Picking someone based on their appearance alone? It’s all so twisted, he thinks, but ploughs on nonetheless.

**MY IDEAL ANGEL WOULD BE:**

**A.** **MALE**

 **B.** **FEMALE**

Dean sighs in relief, knowing that at least that’s an easy answer. He clicks ‘A’, and scrolls down quickly, determined to get through this as fast as possible, so it’s done and he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore.

**MY IDEAL ANGEL WOULD BE:**

**A.** **CONFIDENT, WITTY & FLIRTATIOUS**

 **B.** **SUAVE, SOPHISTICATED & SEXY**

 **C.** **INTELLIGENT, FORMAL & POLITE**

This question stumps Dean for a moment, and he leans back on the bed a little way, thinking. Maybe not based entirely on appearance then, he begrudgingly admits to himself.

He likes to think of himself – on a good day – as possessing the qualities shown in the ‘A’ category, particularly when chatting someone up, and therefore he rules that one out, thinking that their clash of personalities would be a little much to bear.

He contemplates the ‘B’ attributes, and tries to imagine introducing his Father to a wealthy-looking, clean cut young man, probably in a suit, maybe holding a glass of brandy. He actually chuckles when he pictures his Father’s reaction. If his Dad was really hell bent on believing Dean was making up his latent homosexuality, introducing someone who looked like he wouldn’t be seen dead with a mechanic/waiter wouldn’t exactly help the situation.

So, he guesses, ‘C’ it is. An intelligent, formal and polite guy might be just the thing. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about the guy interacting with his family members. As long as he said vaguely the right things, he’d pass just fine.

He clicks ‘C’.

**MY IDEAL ANGEL WOULD HAVE:**

**A.** **COIFFED BROWN HAIR, HAZEL EYES AND A MISCHIEVOUS SMILE**

 **B.** **TUFTY BLONDE HAIR, A RIPPED BODY, AND A SMOULDERING GAZE**

 **C.** **TOUSLED BLACK HAIR, A SLIM BUILD AND DEEP, ICE BLUE EYES**

Wow, Dean thinks, feeling a little spoilt for choice. He feels vaguely uncomfortable, and almost wishes there were pictures to aid his decision. He’s never been one for really buff, muscular guys, so he decides against ‘B’, but then feels awful. He doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to choose based on looks alone, because that’s not how he works. He doesn’t know anything about these guys – how can he tell what they’d be like at gaining his Father’s affection based on their physical appearance?

So he closes his eyes, waves his mouse around a few times, and clicks randomly, hoping for the best. To his surprise, when he opens his eyes he’s landed on ‘C’ again, and he stares at the list of attributes for the second time, wondering. He doesn’t let himself dwell though, thinking that the site could potentially still match him up with anyone, and he should just move forwards.

He clicks ‘next’ and a message immediately flashes up on screen in curly scripture.

**FINDING YOUR ANGEL… ONE MOMENT PLEASE**

Dean is suddenly terrified. All at once, the enormity of this starts to crash down on him. This isn’t just a game on a badly made site, this is a real live man they’re going to find for him, and he’s going to have to _pay_ him to pretend they’re in love. He’s going to meet his Dad, and John will undoubtedly say inappropriate things, and the guy will get uncomfortable. Dean’s going to be flustered enough now that he’s apparently coming out to his entire family all at once, he doesn’t need the added stress of a chiselled, gorgeous guy pretending not to look down on him because he has to _pay_ someone to pretend to love him-

His inner turmoil is interrupted by a sound like bells chiming, ringing out from his laptop. He’s chewing his lip so violently it’s starting to bleed, but he looks down at the screen anyway, his pulse thrumming under his sweaty skin.

**YOUR ANGEL IS…**

** CASTIEL **

Dean blinks at the unusual name, his mouth forming the word carefully.  He wonders why he doesn’t feel quite so nervous anymore. 

(Heaven and Hell: Chapter 2)

 

(Artwork by [Minteey](minteey.deviantart.com))


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting an Angel is a tad overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I will endeavour to be updating this fic every day :) hope you're enjoying it so far x

Castiel isn’t in the mood for work when he finally arrives back at his apartment, but he knows he should check his emails before going to bed; Chuck has undoubtedly sent him his list of clients by now, and he should see what his working week looks like so he can prepare.

He slumps down in front of his monitor, clutching a cup of Earl Grey and opening up his emails. His mind is still swimming with the loud, boisterous voices of his fellow ‘Angels’, all of which had insisted on spending the day with him, so that what he’d initially planned as a heartfelt talk over coffee with Anna, had blossomed into an all-day pub, bar and restaurant crawl, lasting until ten o clock at night.

The worst part was that Anna and Gabriel could barely keep their hands and eyes off each other, flirting and giggling like school children. It was more than strange; Castiel could barely even watch them. His own view of Anna was so sisterly that it was bordering on grotesque to watch Gabriel treating her as a potential romantic partner.

His computer cheerfully declares that he has four new emails, one of which is from Chuck, of course. Castiel opens that one quickly, his blue eyes skimming over the contents.

There are two regular dates scheduled, one with a woman named Pamela Barnes, a name Castiel vaguely remembers Gabriel mentioning once, and if he recalls correctly, she is blind. Pamela has arranged for Castiel to escort her to a restaurant in town where she’ll be meeting her ex-boyfriend, Jesse.

This doesn’t phase Castiel in the slightest, he’s often getting these sorts of requests. People like him to go along with a particular lie, establish a pretend story to manipulate people around them. It used to play on Castiel’s mind a bit back when he first started, and sometimes he’d wonder if he was only succeeding in hurting these people he was hired to make jealous. But then, he’d reasoned later, it was these same people that had usually hurt his clients in some way, forcing them to take the drastic action of hiring an escort, almost as a shield against the pain they would otherwise face upon meeting with them alone.

In this way, Castiel liked to think of himself as a protector, a bodyguard, a hero.

The following date has been scheduled again by Rebecca Rosen, and Castiel does a double take when he sees the name, choking a little on his tea. How had she managed to scrounge up another two thousand dollars in such a short space of time? Castiel shouldn’t care, he should just be happy for the work and the fact a client likes him enough to pay again so quickly. But… Becky is a little scary.

Castiel sighs, resigning himself to more talk of ‘otp’s’, and takes a look at the final name Chuck has sent him.

 _‘Dean Winchester, Male, Age 30.’_ Chuck has typed, and Castiel’s brows shoot up in interest. He does get male clients of course, he’s had a fair share, but mostly it’s women that frequent the Heaven side. _‘Booked four days & nights April 12th-April 15th, travel required to Lawrence, Kansas. He says he needs a date for his brother’s wedding. I gotta say Castiel, this one’s nervous as hell, but he’s gorgeous too. No idea why he’s having any trouble finding a date on his own terms.’_

Castiel rolls his eyes at Chuck’s unprofessional comment, but this Dean Winchester intrigues him nonetheless. Four days is a lot of money, and this little excursion starts on Wednesday, Castiel realises suddenly. He must be desperate, and if Chuck is right, and he is perfectly attractive, then he must be in need of something other than just a date to smile beside him while his brother walks up the aisle.

He sips his tea thoughtfully, wondering what on earth Dean Winchester could need from him, and whether he’d be able to deliver it. He’s pretty confident that he can provide a more than satisfactory service for the man – he prides himself on being particularly good at his job. But still.

Castiel closes the email and shuts down his computer wearily, deciding to head off to bed at last. He can’t help but wonder what his next weekend will entail with Dean Winchester at his side.

* * *

 

“I just can’t believe you did it!”

Dean considers going to stick his head in the oven out in the kitchen. Jo has been relentlessly smug all day, as soon as he’d told her he booked one of the escorts.

“I mean, you never take my advice, man! This is a huge honour for me.” She grins, leaning over the top of the bar towards Dean, standing on the customer’s side because Ellen’s not letting her work weekends yet.

Dean’s hand forms a pistol and he mimes shooting his brains out, earning him a bitchface of epic proportions. “I’m still not cool with this whole deal, Jo.” Dean says, though of course he knows it’s too late to back out now. “What if this guy is a psycho? Or what if he freaks out when he meets my family for the first time and bolts? What the hell do I do then?”

Jo just sighs at him, and Dean turns his back to her, busying himself by arranging the bottles of liquor on the shelf behind him. “That’s unlikely. Your family isn’t that bad, Dean. At least Sam will be there, and if he doesn’t like Sam… then yeah, okay he’s an asshole, but who wouldn’t like Sam?”

Dean turns back to her, his face contorted with anxiety. “And what if he doesn’t like me?”

“Oh for Christ’s- are you serious?” Jo asks, and Dean opens his mouth to respond. “You’re not gonna get some sappy ego-stroke out of me Dean Winchester, now get back to work and thank God you have me as a friend to offer you all sorts of shady-yet-practical solutions to the messes you get yourself into.”

Dean grins at her, threatening her with the soda hose for a second before she runs away, squealing. He does thank God for her, sometimes.

* * *

 

The week passes in a semi-surreal blur for Dean, though he doesn’t want it to at all. He booked the four days off of work weeks ago with both Rufus and Ellen, so that isn’t a problem, but every time he thinks of meeting this guy – _Castiel,_ weirdest name on the planet – he feels a roiling twist in his stomach, and he kind of wants to throw up a bit.

He’s going to have to explain to Castiel that they need to pretend they have been dating for a long time in order to appease his Father’s ridiculous, stubborn views, and he’s not looking forward to that at all. Though he hopes the guy will be professional enough to take it in his stride, he doubts he’s going to be too thrilled about spending four days distracting Dean’s alcoholic Father from disrupting a wedding ceremony.

He works over the weekend as usual, and he curses himself for getting distracted to the point where Ellen has to scold him for screwing up on the job. The garage is closed on Sundays, so Dean has the day to himself, but it’s worse somehow, and he finds himself pacing at home, wringing his hands and trying to squash the butterflies in his stomach when he thinks about Castiel.

Castiel has a profile page on the website, and Dean clicks on it often, squinting at the one small, grainy photograph of his Angel, trying to determine from his surprised, sombre expression - as if he’s been caught off guard by the camera - whether he’s capable of taking on Dean’s world of shit and surviving.

The picture is in black and white, so Dean can’t tell if Castiel’s eyes really are really ‘deep, ice blue’ like his bio states, but he does feel slightly like he’s drowning if he stares back for too long, so he supposes the description isn’t inaccurate.

He can’t really tell a lot else from the picture, aside from Castiel’s piercing gaze staring out at him, and his parted lips, as though he were mid-conversation with the photographer. It’s kind of dark, and difficult to make out any other features, though Dean can see that Castiel is attractive, but that’s hardly a surprise.

He’s glad when work at the Roadhouse on Sunday evening forces him to get off the computer, and he goes to take a shower before heading out, Castiel’s picture still staring out of the screen, his eyes wide and motionless, following Dean as he walks away.

* * *

 

“Bye, Castiel!”

“Goodnight, Becky.” Castiel replies, and he smiles, bending down and pressing a soft kiss to her blushing cheek before she scampers up the steps to her house.

She turns again once she gets to her front door, and Castiel likens her to a teenage girl, being walked home after her second date. It would be endearing if he wasn’t so worn out. His hand discreetly slips into his trenchcoat pocket, stroking his fingers lightly over the envelope containing the money she gave him as he smiles and waves at her, catching the kiss she blows with a grin that makes her giggle.

Finally, she enters the semi-detached house, closing the door behind her, and Castiel lets the smile slip away. He wonders to himself what on earth she’s getting out of all this, and hopes she has someone in her life that could help her to realise she’s barking up the wrong tree if she wants a relationship anytime soon.

* * *

 

Castiel gets home at around eleven thirty, and types out a hurried email to Chuck almost as soon as he walks in the door, letting him know that he was paid again in cash tonight, and that he’d deposit the money into his account at the airport tomorrow.

Satisfied that Crowley won’t be able to chastise him for not informing Chuck of his payment this time, Castiel shucks off his coat and shoes, turning to go and start packing for the four-day excursion tomorrow, where he’ll finally get to meet the mysterious Dean Winchester.

His inbox pings at him before he can even start for the bedroom however, and he sighs, but goes to see what exciting news Chuck has for him this time.

**To: customerservices@heavenandhellescorts.com**

**From: deanlovespie79@gmail.com**

**Fwd: castiel.novak@heavenandhellescorts.com**

This is Chuck, Castiel. I’m forwarding this to you on request. It’s a damn good thing this one is cute, am I right?

How’d it go with Becky by the way? She seemed cool when I spoke to her :)

**********************************************************************************************************************

Hi,

Sorry about this, I booked one of your ‘Angels’ a couple of nights ago, under the name Dean Winchester.

The guy I booked is called Castiel I think, but I forgot to say that I’d meet him on the 2422 flight out of Detroit to Lawrence Municipal – leaves at 13:43pm local time.

If you could forward him this email, that’d be great. Also, I just wanted to warn him (hi Castiel, if you’re reading this) that I’m not… an excellent flyer. It’s not that I’m scared of planes or anything, I just don’t understand how people can be perfectly comfortable in a metal tube thousands of feet in the air when we could potentially plummet to the ground at any-

Sorry.

I’m not crazy I swear.

See you tomorrow.

Dean Winchester

**********************************************************************************************************************

Castiel is surprised to find a smile on his lips when he finishes the email. Dean’s attempt at formality in that email had quickly slipped into a more colloquial tone, almost as soon as he envisioned Castiel reading the words, in fact.

Dean is clearly a nervous wreck, it’s evident even through his written words. Castiel supposes that it’s a good thing it’s part of his job to make his clients feel at ease, and he goes to pack his suitcase, trying to picture Dean’s face in his mind.

* * *

 

Because he’d had so much to fret over already, Dean had sort of put the whole plane-thing to the back of his mind. After all, it’s not like he’s never flown before, and he knows realistically that it’s a common fear, and that nothing will happen to him.  It’s harder to convince himself of this when he's standing in the airport lobby however, and he can practically feel the building shudder as planes zoom overhead. Dean tries to focus, to distract himself by concentrating instead on the bigger issues preying on his mind, such as the whole fake-boyfriend-to-please-daddy drama.

But he feels a familiar sense of panic start to creep through his body when he’s checking his suitcases in, unable to smile at the pretty girl behind the counter. His muscles start to become rigid and lock together, meaning he has to exert more energy than usual to walk through the security scanner, and he’s sure _that_ didn’t make him look like a petrified terrorist.

He’s breathing heavily by the time he makes it into the departure lounge, sitting tensely in one of the rows of seats and eyeing the ground staff over by the gate. He has a few moments of calm, wherein he distracts himself by looking around the economy class passengers milling about in the waiting area with him, scanning their faces for piercing, ‘ice blue’ eyes. He doesn’t see anyone who fits the description however, and he supposes Castiel must be late or something. Then he’s back to being concerned, because what if he’s being stood up? By the date he’s _paying_ to accompany him?! Damn it, he knew he shouldn’t have sent that email. Castiel probably thinks he’s some kind of nutjob, terrorised by aeroplanes and unable to send one damn coherent message.

“Could all passengers seated in rows one to twenty-six please make their way to the boarding station now, please.”

Dean’s stomach drops about fifty feet and he fumbles in his jacket pocket for his ticket, earning an amused glance from a woman seated opposite, a little boy struggling on her knee.

“First flight?” She asks, a smirk on her lips.

Dean colours a little and tells himself to calm down. He probably looks like he’s just seen a monster, and that is not what he wants Castiel’s first impression of him to be. Not that his impression really matters, considering he’s being paid to dote on Dean no matter what, but still.

Dean gives her a smile in return that’s so stretched and forced, she actually ‘hmmphs’ and turns away.

He grasps hold of the ticket at last, and peeks at the number in the corner. Row sixteen. Perfect.

Things don’t improve much once he’s crammed into his seat. After pushing through hoards of holiday-goers and sour-faced commuters, he’s squashed beside a cross-looking elderly woman with thinning hair and a clacking set of loose-fitting false teeth jammed in her jaw. He tries to breathe steadily, in through his nose and out through his mouth, blocking out the noises around him and humming a Metallica song under his breath. He closes his eyes as he hums, earning himself a frosty glare from the woman next to him.

He’s so wound up that he actually yelps a little when he feels a tap on his shoulder, and he peels open his eyes, embarrassed at his own reaction. Above him is a smiling flight attendant, her little red hat at a jaunty angle on her chocolatey hair, pulled neatly into a bun. She greets him with an air of unwavering pleasantness, despite the fact he must be looking at her like she’s some kind of demon. He wouldn’t be surprised; that smile is unnaturally wide. He’s tempted to shout ‘Christo’ just to be sure.

“Mr Winchester?” She asks, her voice like honey. Dean nods stiffly, wondering what he’s done to warrant a scolding before they’ve even taken off. “Could you follow me please?”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, and as he rises shakily from his seat he swears he sees a smirk on the old woman’s face. Has he really done something that he’s being punished for? He scans through his memory, wondering if it’s against the airline’s rules not to smile at the flight attendants as they take your tickets when you enter the plane.

He grabs his bag from the locker above and follows the woman down the aisle, squeezing past several flight-goers stowing their bags, being generally obstructive.

They get to a closed scarlet curtain, and Dean thinks about running away – he doesn’t want to be here anyway, and he’s suddenly very concerned about what lies beyond that curtain; he’s certainly not sure he wants to find out. But he thinks of Sam, the one person in his life that can give him strength when he’s sure he has none, and how he promised he’d be there as soon as possible. Glowering a little at Ms Smiley, he ducks through the curtain as she holds it open, and tenses, preparing for the worst.

He doesn’t quite know what he expected to find – the engine room, maybe? The place where they keep all the luggage, and the woman would tell him in a regretful voice (still smiling, of course), _“I’m terribly sorry Mr Winchester, but unfortunately there’s been a mix up and you’ll be needing to strap yourself down with everyone’s bags. Take off is in two minutes. There will be plenty of turbulence.”_

Instead, he is faced with much pleasanter surroundings. The seats in this part of the plane are much larger, and are widely spaced apart, one in front of the other so there would be no chance of getting an unfortunate neighbour.

Each plush crimson chair has its own mini table for drinks and snacks, and there is a tiny moveable television screen on the arm, along with a reading light and a detachable pillow.

Dean is speechless at the sight of the hidden area; he’d assumed that his only option was to squash in with the noisy, swarming masses, trying to block out the noises of children shrieking and old men coughing what sounded like pneumonia into the air.

“Mr Novak asked us to move you up to first class, Mr Winchester.” The hostess is saying, and Dean barely hears her over the blessed quiet of this place. If only he could stay in here, he might be able to sleep through the flight- wait, what? Did she just say he’d been moved up here?

“Mr Novak?” Dean asks, his voice croaky, disbelieving. He suddenly feels horribly out of place in his jacket and jeans; every other person in this first class section is wearing a suit. Even the women.

The smiling woman opens her mouth to respond, and that’s when a voice, deep and sensual like crushed velvet, sends ripples of something other-worldly down Dean’s spine.

“Ah, that would be me.”

Dean turns from the woman, not even noticing her coy smile before she turns and walks away. A man is getting up from one of the seats on the right hand side, moving towards him, and Dean is utterly, completely speechless.

“Hello, Dean.”

He stares unashamedly as Castiel, because that’s who it must be, saunters over to him, his hand outstretched, waiting for Dean to grasp it. Castiel’s eyes aren’t just ‘ice blue’ - and that’s suddenly the most ridiculous description Dean has ever heard, because they’re fucking _turquoise, cerulean…_ some alien colour Dean’s limited brain can’t place. He stares into them, seeing little rock pools hiding wonders in their depths, and he’s already lost in them, unable to breathe.

He tries to run his gaze over the rest of Castiel, catching glimpses of his too-perfect-to-not-be-deliberate three-day stubble as it clings to his firm, square jaw, and he manages to drink in the rich black suit Castiel is wearing, perfectly tailored to hug his lithe frame, a skinny black tie the only oddity, as it’s been put on back to front - yet it doesn’t seem out of place.

It’s mere moments however, before he is pulled back into those endless eyes, staring at him as though he’s stripped bare, almost neon in their brilliance, holding him in place with a steady gaze.

It’s several seconds before Dean realises he’s staring open-mouthed at this guy he’s just met, and he still hasn’t returned the handshake yet.

“Sorry.” Dean mutters, sliding his hand into Castiel’s and tearing his gaze away, because it’s not his fault, he’s just drunk; those eyes should come with a warning label. “Uh, nice to meet you Castiel.”

If Castiel was fazed by Dean’s staring, it doesn’t show on his face, and he smiles widely, looking so genuinely pleased to see him that Dean reckons he’s probably going to be worth the money. “Likewise, Dean. I hope you don’t mind me moving you up here? My company pays for Business Class for myself and my client if I travel within a certain mile zone.”

Dean chuckles, because seriously, who could _mind_ being bumped up to first class free of charge? If his hooker wants to pay for anything else for him, he’s sure not complaining. _Escort_ , he reminds himself, and then makes the mistake of meeting Castiel’s gaze again.

His breath hitches in spite of himself, not helped by the fact Castiel’s soft, delicate hand is still grasped in his. “Dude,” Dean breathes, trying not to let his gaze slip down to Castiel’s pink lips, “work must be _crazy._ ”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirks up in an embarrassed smile, and he doesn’t respond, other than to look bashfully away. He gingerly prises his hand out of Dean’s and gestures to the seats nearby.

“Shall we sit?”

Dean has all but forgotten his anxiety by this point – flying, the wedding, his Dad, none of it seems important anymore. He follows Castiel obediently, sitting in the seat the man indicates for him, the one in front of Castiel’s own, and stares up at his ‘Angel’ in awe.

He barely resists when Castiel takes the rucksack Dean is holding and stretches up to place it in the locker overhead. Dean watches the strain of his shirt fabric as he extends his arms upwards, and tries not to think inappropriate thoughts.

They are unable to talk for a little while, because at that moment the ‘ting’ of the ‘fasten seatbelts’ sign resounds through the air, and Dean is forced to sit through an entire safety-talk, and the whole runway debacle, his thumbs twisting together nervously because he wants so badly to turn and see the man behind him again, to check he’s real.

“So,” Dean says conversationally, once they are safely in the air, and Dean has gathered his wits together once more, “I guess we should, uh, run through a few things?”

Dean pokes his head over the top of the seat so he can look at Castiel, and immediately regrets it, because okay, if he hasn’t stressed it enough already, this dude is seriously hot. Like, beyond what Dean could dream of hot.

Now being added to the list of anxieties he’s currently dealing with: being sexually attracted to his male escort, to the point where he’s seriously worrying he might accidentally start grinding on him during the ceremony.

He wills himself to focus, to tuck his libido away for one goddamn minute, but Castiel smiles at him, and it’s probably the most adorable thing Dean has ever seen.

“Okay, your picture online did _not_ do you justice, man.” Dean finds himself saying, and then he wants to die. Castiel blushes, which seems odd, given his line of work, but Dean isn’t complaining.

“Um. Thank you, Dean.” Castiel replies, and he flashes him a smile. “May I also say that you are very aesthetically pleasing.”

It’s pretty much the weirdest way anyone’s ever told him he’s good-looking, but for some reason Dean likes it, despite the fact Castiel is probably only saying it because it’s part of his job to do so. He winks at Castiel nonetheless, unable to stop his flirtatious nature from coming out just because this guy is an expert in the area.

“So anyway,” Dean says, forcing his mind back to Sam, the wedding, blah, blah, “I just wanted to run you through some stuff, just so you’re not too shell-shocked when you’re faced with… everything.”

Castiel nods seriously, giving Dean his full attention, his hands folded in his lap. Dean decides to kneel up on the seat, his arms resting on the headrest as he leans over the back to talk to him.

“An excellent idea.” Castiel agrees, his expression sincere.

Dean takes a breath in, readying himself for Castiel’s reaction after he goes through the details. “Okay, so I basically need you to pretend you’re my… to pretend we’re, y’know…” Dean flounders a bit, not wanting to say it aloud because it suddenly feels ridiculous - Castiel is _gorgeous._ Dean isn’t saying that if he saw Castiel in a bar or a club he wouldn’t try his luck, because he knows he’s not a bad looking guy himself, but to suddenly pair them together like that, even in a pretend situation, it seems absurd.

“…together?” Castiel offers, and Dean exhales in relief.

“Right. Yeah, I need to pretend that, because my Dad…” Dean sighs, wondering how best to explain this. He shifts on his knees, leaning further forwards on his arms, inadvertently moving closer to Castiel, who is wearing an encouraging expression. “…my Dad told me the other day that he doesn’t believe I’m…” Dean trails off, closing his eyes.

“…gay?” Castiel asks quietly, his face troubled, as if he’s concerned for Dean.

“Uh huh. He reckons I give up on everything I do or some shit, so now he’s thinking I’m gonna give up on this too. But I’ve always been gay, y’know? It’s not something I can just switch off, even if I wanted to.” Dean looks up at Castiel, and the man nods, like he understands completely. “He’s just being stubborn, but I got in a fight with him about it, and I kinda accidentally said I had a committed, long-term boyfriend.”

Castiel smiles then, and it’s unexpected, but nice. “That would be me, then.”

Dean is a little speechless. “Y-yeah. I guess so.”

“Should we perhaps work out some kind of cover story?” Castiel asks, managing to sound innocent when he’s essentially talking about devising a lie to feed everyone in Dean’s family.

Dean agrees, and they hammer something out that could work. Castiel goes along with Dean’s suggestions for the most part, because he knows his own family, and therefore what they are more likely to believe.

After they’ve worked out every detail either one of them can think of, Dean smiles at Castiel and tells him he’s going to try and sleep through the rest of the flight. It’s only as he settles in his seat, head against the detachable pillow, that he realises he isn’t scared right now. In fact, despite being suspended in mid-air, thousands of miles from the life he’s carved out for himself over the last few years, Dean feels completely at ease.

A thought drifts into his brain just before sleep overcomes him, making him chuckle.

_Flying with an Angel obviously has its benefits._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam, Jess, I want you to meet, uh..."

There is one thought on Castiel’s mind, and that thought is _get me off this plane._

He wishes, no he _prays_ that he actually were a goddamn Angel, because then he could just flap his wings, disappear into the sky and pretend he and Dean Winchester had never met.

Castiel isn’t an idiot, he’s a professional guy, and he knows that this sort of thing sometimes happens to people in his line of work. It’s happened to Gabriel so many times he’s lost count, though Gabriel isn’t exactly 'picky'. But Castiel is. He doesn’t know what attracts him to people really - he _does_ know that it’s a rarity when he does actually find someone he’s attracted to - they have to possess a quality, something inside them that’s barely visible to the naked eye.

And in Dean Winchester, that quality is so bright it’s practically blinding.

Not once, not in all the time he’s worked for Crowley, has Castiel been attracted to a client. He’d actually convinced himself that it was because of his professional attitude, and that he was exponentially good at separating business from pleasure. But that’s the thing – when business _is_ pleasure, how on earth is one supposed to separate the two?

Castiel wants to bury his face in his hands. No, more than that he wants to lean over the top of the seat in front of him and gaze down at Dean’s sleeping form, watch his eyelids flicker as he dreams, soothe him with gentle caresses.

Damn it.

He screws his eyes shut, and wills himself to bury all inappropriate thoughts. This man is in dire need of help; his own father is tormenting him, unable to see the goodness in Dean’s soul – the goodness that is so obvious to Castiel despite the fact they’ve only just _met._

Just from talking to Dean for half an hour, Castiel has seen a window into Dean’s world, and he can tell it’s not great. Dean is suffering, at the hands of his father, yes, but also at the hands of his own self-deprecation and emotional repression. He desperately needs Castiel for the next few days, and it is this fact, solely, that keeps Castiel from digging into his pants pocket, pulling out his cell and calling Chuck to tell him he’s cancelling.

It’s got absolutely nothing to do with how Dean winked at him, honestly.

* * *

 

It’s the jolt of the plane hitting the asphalt that jerks Dean awake at last, and he’s delighted to find that he’s drooled onto his shoulder, leaving himself with a nice, noticeable wet patch on his canvas jacket. He takes a moment to gather himself, to remember that oh yeah, he’s on a plane, and oh yeah he survived the flight, and _oh yeah_ his ridiculously gorgeous male escort is still sat behind him, probably bored out of his mind on account of the fact Dean fell asleep for the whole journey.

He sits up a little, finding that he’s slumped right the way down in his seat somewhere during the journey, and he can’t resist peeking over the top of his chair, his bleary gaze meeting Castiel’s amused, sparkling eyes and making him blush.

“Did you sleep well, Dean?”

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Dean says, and then turns back around, running a hand through his hair and trying to force himself to wake up a little.

The plane comes to a slow stop eventually, and after what feels like years of waiting, fingers hovering over the metal clasp, the seatbelt light pings off and Dean releases himself from its bonds.

He gets to his feet, knees protesting at his sudden movement after two hours of sitting, and he turns, ready to reach for his rucksack overhead, but finds himself almost running straight into Castiel, who is already there, arms outstretched to the locker above him again, retrieving Dean’s luggage before attending to his own.

“Oh!” Dean says, a little embarrassed at their sudden proximity. Castiel’s eyes flick down from the locker to Dean’s briefly, which only emphasises how close they are suddenly standing, and Dean takes a hasty step backwards towards his seat again. “It’s okay, I can do that if you-”

“It’s no problem, Dean.” Castiel interrupts, smiling as he lifts the bag down and hands it over. “It’s all part of my services.”

Dean feels even more embarrassed then, because he’s suddenly telling this guy how to do his job, and that’s not cool. He shakes it off, and stays quiet as Castiel gathers his few belongings.

He decides to initiate conversation about an area he’s sure he has the upper hand in; his family. They need to talk further about it anyway, and so as they walk together through the terminal, following signs that read ‘baggage claim’, Dean glances over at Castiel, a little nervously.

“So, my brother, Sam, he’s gonna pick us up from the ‘arrivals’ err…place. He’s the one getting married.”

“I remember.” Castiel says, and he flashes Dean an extremely attractive smile, which only stops his heart for a couple of seconds, really. He can’t help but marvel at the surety with which Castiel moves, how he strides forward, as if he navigates this building all the time, though he’s fairly certain the guy has never been to Lawrence Municipal Airport in his life.

“Right. So he’ll probably be with Jess, his fiancée obviously, and uh, yeah. So you’ll… we’ll need to…”

Dean chews his lip and turns his face away from Castiel as he walks, not wanting to betray his emotions. In all honesty, he’s suddenly petrified, because this is _Sam,_ probably the most important person to him in the world, and he’s about to present him with this gorgeous, blue-eyed lie. He never lies to Sam, not ever. But this is to make Sam as happy as he can be. For some reason, his stupid little brother has gone and convinced himself that he can’t be totally happy until Dean is. So he has to pretend, to lie – for Sam’s sake.

They arrive at the baggage claim then, and stand at the empty conveyor belt, side by side, waiting. Dean’s lip is starting to bleed with the force of his chewing.

“What’s Sam like?” Castiel asks, and when Dean looks over at him, he's studying Dean closely. His face is tilted a little, as if he's picked up on Dean's anxiety, and his body is turned towards him, like he’s genuinely curious. He looks kind of adorable actually, shrouded in some god-awful beige trenchcoat he must surely have picked up from a boot sale, or maybe it was handed down from a sibling. Dean can’t help it, he feels a smile split his face, and he looks away, shaking his head in wonder.

“Sam’s… Sam’s a dork.” Dean says, and he looks up, shocked, when Castiel chuckles. He finds himself laughing too, suddenly. “He’s such a nerd, seriously. Always has been. Even when we were kids he’d do all his homework the day he got it. Who does that? Seriously?”

Castiel is laughing properly now, and Dean suddenly feels lighter. Talking about Sam is one of his favourite things to do. He’s so proud of his baby brother.

“He’s some hot-shot lawyer now, marrying his college girlfriend like the goody-goody he is.” Dean huffs a laugh again, noticing that the first few colourless bags have started to spill onto the conveyor in front of them. “Nah, I love him to bits. Tore me up when we moved our separate ways, and I never get to see him enough. We talk all the time though – you can still argue with your little brother over the phone you know, Cas.”

Dean turns to Cas, smiling, to get his reaction, and finds surprise etched onto the Angel’s features. He backtracks, wondering if he said something out of place, or inappropriate.

“Cas?” Castiel asks, and his head tilts again. Those magnificent eyes are filled with something like wonder, and it makes Dean want to bury his head in the sand.

“Oh! Sorry, man. I don’t know why I said that, I-”

“No, it’s… it’s alright. I like it. Cas. Nobody has ever called me that before.”

Dean watches as Castiel looks away, his face ponderous, and a little smile tugs the corners of his pink mouth. Dean is about to say something else, but then he spots his case trundling by. He almost misses it, accidentally catching some poor guy’s knee with the corner of it in his haste to pull it off the belt.

Moments later, Castiel’s case arrives too, and they set off, wheeling their luggage along the polished cream floor behind them. For some reason Dean doesn’t feel quite so nervous about seeing Sam anymore. Talking about him with Cas has just reminded him of how much he _misses_ the guy, and now instead he feels only anticipation – a familiar yearning sensation pooling in his gut, reaching out for the lost limb that is his little brother.

Suddenly, he can’t get down the hall leading to ‘arrivals’ fast enough, and Castiel seems a little amused by his sudden eagerness. Any other time, Dean would be embarrassed by his quickening pace, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Castiel seems nice, more than nice actually, and even if it’s only an act, he’s being paid to  _pretend_ nice. He won’t think badly of Dean for wanting to reach Sam all the quicker.

Dean spots him by his hair, of course. Well, that and the fact that he’s towering above most of the other families, waiting for the familiar sight of their loved ones to waltz through the open doors. He grins excitedly when he sees Sam jump and wave at him, and he watches his brother bend down briefly to talk with someone else hidden behind swarms of excited people.

Dean shoots a quick glance over at Cas, who seems remarkably in control of the situation, having kept up with Dean’s pace this whole time despite his sudden eagerness. He gives Dean a reassuring smile, putting him at ease, and Dean turns his attention back to Sam, who is now holding up a squirming woman, his arm wrapped around her middle as she squeals delightedly and waves at him, laughing.

 _Jess,_ his mind breathes, and he feels his heart swell, his grin doubling in size. Finally, he reaches the crowd, and he pushes through, his case thumping along behind him to a cacophony of disgruntled protestations.

“Dean!” Jess shouts, loudly enough to make several nearby families look up in surprise. Before Dean can react, two skinny arms are being thrown around his neck, sending his bag crashing to the floor with a clatter, and a kiss is planted firmly on his cheek.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Dean greets, hugging her tightly and breathing in her nectary perfume. She breaks free after a moment, leaning back to grin up at him excitedly, her blonde curls bouncing around her face. “You just keep getting hotter and hotter! Still out of my brother’s league. It’s not too late to back out you know.”

“You’re such a jerk!” Sam cries, and before Dean can form the appropriate response, namely ‘bitch’, he’s being enveloped in his second hug, this one significantly more bone-crushing. Dean gives as good as he gets though, and clings on fiercely to Sam’s back, willing himself not to tear up, not in front of… oh god! Where’s Cas? He’s basically ditched his date, leaving the poor guy to fend for himself in a place he doesn’t know, with people he’s never met.

Sam releases him after a good thirty seconds, and everyone present pretends that it’s perfectly normal to get that emotional about seeing your brother after a few months apart. Dean knows he can get a little teary when it comes to Sam, but really, Sam is all he has.

“Sam, Jess,” Dean says awkwardly, not wanting to draw this out for much longer, “I want you to meet, uh…” he scans the people around him, looking for a glimpse of beige in the sea of charcoal.

“Hello, my name is Castiel. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam.”

Dean isn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly Castiel is right by his side, his hand outstretched towards his brother. Sam and Jess seem as surprised as he is, so it’s a little like he just appeared from thin air, but Dean couldn’t be more grateful.

Sam’s eyes open wide, and Dean tries not to blush too hard when a grin the size of the Mississippi crawls across his little brother’s face. Sam grabs hold of Castiel’s hand with his own bear-sized paw, and shakes it vigorously. “Hi, _Castiel._ Wow, it’s, I’m just, it’s an honour to meet you, man.” He shoots Dean a mischievous glance, which he returns with a look that he hopes is menacing. “I wish I could say I’d heard a lot about you, but…”

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” Dean interrupts, mumbling slightly. Sam looks like he’s won some sort of prize, and Dean just knows he’s going to get some form of ‘I told you so’ later.

Castiel turns to Jess, who is looking at him a little shell-shocked, probably marvelling at his statuesque beauty, Dean thinks. It wouldn’t surprise him. Castiel holds out a hand to her too, and she takes it gingerly, as if he’ll break.

“Jessica, it’s lovely to meet you too.” Castiel says sincerely, and Jess actually blushes a little, but smiles at him warmly. “Congratulations, both of you. I wish you a lifetime of happiness together.”

Okay, so that was a little weird, Dean thinks, especially as the wedding isn’t for two more days and that’s the kind of thing you recite to the couple after they’ve finished slow-dancing. But whatever, it’s passable; even if it’s a little too obvious Cas got that out of ‘things-to-say-when-escorting-at-weddings-101’.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” Sam says, and luckily he seems too blissed out on a pre-wedding-high to notice Castiel’s little blunder. Sam grabs Jess around the waist and pulls her towards him for a kiss.

Castiel turns back to Dean, smiling, and picks up the bag he dropped. Their hands brush slightly as he passes the handle back to Dean, and it’s a little worrying how much the slide of Castiel’s warm, soft skin against the back of his hand seems to affect him. He half-snatches the handle from him and wheels the case behind himself, ready to move off, deciding that’s enough meeting the ‘boyfriend’ for now, and he breathes a sigh of relief that this part is over.

* * *

 

Dean’s home is everything Castiel never knew, and always imagined. He’d never, _ever_ say anything like this aloud of course, given that he’s supposed to be mysterious, an enigma – he’s not supposed to have a past, or a family. Luckily, he doesn’t really.

It doesn’t stop him from wanting one though, especially when he sees what Dean has, particularly with his brother, Sam. The closeness of their bond would be obvious to anyone who came near them, and Castiel finds himself almost grateful on Dean’s behalf, that he has this, even when things seem at their worst.

Sam clearly adores his older brother, idolises him in ways Dean can probably never bring himself to understand. Castiel had watched as the brothers saw each other for the first time, how their faces had lit up from within, how they’d seemed less than whole before they were in each other’s arms.

It was a beautiful thing to observe, and Castiel is more than aware that these types of close family bonds typically only arise from being forced to endure suffering together. He doesn’t know what great tragedy shaped these two boys into what they are today, but he can see, just from their lingering touch, that it changed them forever.

Sam drives, and Dean takes every opportunity to good-naturedly tease him about his skills on the road from the backseat. There’s not much room for conversation as it takes less than ten minutes before they pull up to a cutesy suburban house, clothed in mint-green weatherboarding, complete with a little porch, and a front yard in an almost alarming shade of chartreuse. Castiel smiles when he sees it, and thinks that it must have been a lovely place for Dean and Sam to grow up.

* * *

 

“Hey Cas, could you uh, help Jess with the bags for a sec?” Dean asks once they’ve clambered out of the car, and Jess has disappeared round to delve into the trunk.

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel replies, smiling at him fondly before turning in the opposite direction, and Dean actually blushes before he turns to Sam, pulling him a few paces away to have a private word.

As soon as they’re out of view of the others Dean receives a sharp nudge in the ribs from his brother’s pointy elbow. “So." He says, grinning inanely. " _Cas?”_

“Alright, alright.” Dean says before Sam can continue. He can’t even look at his brother while he has that smug, knowing grin on his face for fear he might try to punch it off. “Yeah, okay I brought a plus-one. You happy?”

“Happy? Dean I’m _thrilled!_ ” Sam replies, and when Dean looks up, he really does look ecstatic. It’s a little manic actually. Weddings do that to a person. “Do you have any idea how much of a good time me, you and Cas can have at my bachelor party now? Just… try not to stick your tongue down his throat for the _whole_ night okay?”

Dean chuckles, and he takes a moment to thank everyone and anyone up in the sky for giving him Sam, and for giving his baby brother the ability to accept him wholly, and love him unconditionally. Thinking of Sam’s words he glances over at Cas, finding him smiling indulgently as Jess piles bags into his waiting arms. Poor guy. How can someone look that hot when they’re being treated as a pack mule, though? “I’ll try, Sammy.” Though he’s promising nothing.

“Seriously, I’m happy for you man. I knew there was no way you’d show up to my wedding without a date.” Sam says, grinning and being generally infuriating. Dean runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, alright. Sorry, I guess I was… holding out on you. But we’re here now, so…”

“Cool. I can’t wait to get to know him. So… is that the end of the chick flick moment? Cause I’ve got a feeling there’s more.”

Dean pushes his brother playfully in the shoulder, but he should have known better, because despite being younger, Sam is just… bigger. He ends up staggering backwards at the force of Sam’s retaliation shove.

“Dude, _ow._ ”

“Aw, you’re so fragile.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“…Sam?”

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam’s voice has gone from amused to concerned in approximately 0.5 seconds.

“You know what me bringing Cas here means, right?”

Dean’s eyes are level, careful.

“You’re gonna tell everyone.” It’s a statement not a question, and the realisation dawns upon Sam as it tumbles from his lips. “You’re gonna  tell Dad. Tell him that you’re…”

Dean nods slowly, his mouth a grim line, because that’s the one thing he’s going to have to do, like, _soon._ He carefully doesn’t say that he already has told John, and that John didn’t friggin’ believe him, as it will only add to Sam’s concern. He’s really dreading facing his father though, with Castiel by his side.

Sam’s hand comes to rest briefly on Dean’s shoulder, and he nods in a firm way, as if reassuring himself as well as Dean.

“He’ll be fine. Don’t worry. We’ll do it now. Come on, let’s go help our other halves.” Sam says, and then he’s walking over to the trunk of the car, Dean having no choice but to follow along behind.

When Sam reaches Jess she’s deep in conversation with Castiel, but the conversation seems a little one-sided. Upon closer inspection, she’s holding out a pale, freckled hand towards him, complete with chipped sparkly blue nail polish, and showing off the large diamond held in curling silver metal wrapped around her finger. Dean chuckles - only Jess could have such a decidedly un-manicured hand and still pull off that ring.

“It’s 18 karat white gold, with a full carat, round cut diamond – Sam spent way too much on me, I feel so extravagant," she lets her hand drop comically, pretending to hold it up with her right one, "it weighs me down Cas, you’ve no idea-”

Sam immediately hoists her up before she can continue, his strong arm encircling her waist and throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She squeals and laughs, pretending to be dismayed, but allows herself to be taken towards the house, telling Sam she’s perfectly capable of walking and that he’ll pay for this later.

Dean watches them go, smiling faintly as they disappear through the door of the house, and he’s left standing with Cas by an open car boot. He looks over at the Angel, and suddenly realises Castiel is completely shrouded in both of their luggage. He curses very quietly and starts to take some of the stuff from him, slinging the bags onto his shoulder and threading his arms through their straps.

Castiel just smiles and tells him it’s not necessary, and Dean decides it’s best for them to just get inside before they start arguing over who gets to be the gentleman in this situation. Plus, the sooner this John-meeting-Cas ordeal is over, the better. Maybe.

“Thanks for being cool so far, Cas.” Dean says, feeling a little awkward now that Sam and Jess aren’t here to play pretend in front of. “You did great.”

“Thank you, Dean. I’m glad I’ve done a satisfactory job so far.”

Dean doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he clears his throat a few times, and then starts to walk towards the house, indicating that Cas should follow.

“So, my Dad will probably be inside.” Dean says, trying to sound nonchalant over the sound of his pounding heart. “He’s kinda… well, we’ll just need to be extra careful around him-”

“Dean.” Castiel interrupts, and Dean realises after a moment that the Angel has stopped walking. He halts in his tracks and spins round to face Castiel, stood still in the middle of the path up to the house and looking very serious. He gulps. “Don’t worry.”

Castiel’s voice is so commanding, Dean finds it difficult to believe that he could ever refuse.

“I know you are nervous, it’s perfectly natural to feel that way. It’s human. I am a highly skilled professional, Dean, and this is my job.” Castiel steps closer to Dean, and he drops the bags he’s clutching in his hands. Dean is suddenly acutely aware of the lack of personal space as Cas crowds into him, his friggin’ hypnotic gaze holding him in place. “Your father will believe that we are together, and your brother’s wedding will be a beautiful, memorable event.”

Dean can’t breathe. He can’t think, he can barely even move. All he can feel is Castiel’s warmth, despite the fact they are standing outside on his old front lawn. Castiel is too close, it’s overwhelming and he was not prepared. Up close, he can see the few sparsely scattered freckles littered across Cas’s cheeks, like pinpricks on the flawless pale skin. His lips are just inches away, and Dean imagines that he can actually taste Castiel in the breaths shared between them, a sweet taste, like rainwater. He would drop the bags he’s holding but his fingers are frozen in position. Why is Cas not moving away?

His blue eyes are flicking between Dean’s, searching, and he seems to be waiting for some kind of confirmation that Dean understands what he’s saying. After a long, long pause, Dean gives a small nod, and it seems to do the trick.

Castiel smiles very slightly, satisfied that Dean has taken his words to heart, and he has. He has no idea why Castiel is so persuasive, but he’s sure it has something to do with his eyes, and his voice, and his general air of pure, liquid sex.

“We should get inside. We don’t want to keep your father waiting.” Castiel is saying, and he bends down again to pick up the bags he dropped. Without waiting for a response from Dean, Castiel walks smoothly past him, towards the front door, leaving Dean staring stupidly after him until he gathers himself, and catches up.

* * *

 

As it turns out, they needn’t have worried about keeping John Winchester waiting, as when they trundle through the hickory door, their bulky bags knocking against the frame, he’s nowhere in sight. Sam stands at the foot of the stairs, smiling as if there’s nothing amiss, and Dean kind of really doesn’t want to ask. Maybe prolonging the moment will allow him time to gather some goddamn courage.

“We’ve got a couple’ guests staying at the house over the next few days, but I thought it’d be easiest to just put you in your old room, Dean.” Sam says, and starts to jog lightly up the staircase in front of him, one arm skimming the rich walnut handrail that Dean remembers providing hours of sliding fun as a youngster. He smiles fondly at the memory and starts to follow Sam, feet tapping against the wood. He can feel Cas immediately start after him, and he wonders absently where Jess has gone – she was over Sam’s shoulder just a little while ago. How long had he spent outside with Cas? Maybe hours had gone by while he was locked in that hypnotic gaze.

“Sure, no problem.” Dean murmurs in response to Sam’s statement. They reach the landing and Dean sucks in a breath, purposefully not looking to his left, towards the end of the corridor where everything is glaringly new and refurbished.

Castiel is beside Dean in a second, and he blocks the view down the corridor anyway, almost as if he senses Dean would rather not see it.

“Cas, you don’t mind squeezing in with Dean, right?” Sam asks, and actually _winks_ goddamn him, forcing Dean to clear his throat and barge past his little brother, into the room he used to call his own.

He vaguely hears a low “of course not,” in Castiel’s smoky voice, and Dean distracts himself from the goosebumps he immediately gets by looking left and right, admiring the familiar baby blue of his walls. His room looks the same as it did when he was seventeen, right down to the peeling Metallica and Black Sabbath posters blu-tacked above his bed; he doesn’t know whether that should make him happy or sad.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to get settled.” Sam says in the most indiscreet voice Dean can possibly imagine, and he turns just in time to witness Sam ushering Castiel forwards across the hardwood floor, and aiming a pointed look at the large, oak-framed double bed in the centre of the room.

Castiel just smiles like he hasn’t even noticed Sam playing around – maybe with any luck he actually hasn’t – and Dean dumps his bags, trying not to look too mortified. Luckily, Sam ducks out then, closing the door behind him, and they are left alone. For a little while.

“Well.” Dean says awkwardly, just as the silence reaches an unbearable level. Castiel is just standing there, by the door, staring at him as if awaiting further instruction. It’s making Dean itchy, though the guy doesn’t seem displeased by his current situation. He looks as fucking stunning and other-worldly as usual, even drenched in the awful trenchcoat that Dean is so not thinking about ripping off. “This is my room.”

He gestures to the space around him, and then curses himself mentally, because now that he looks at it, through Castiel’s eyes this place probably looks ridiculous. For one thing, it’s practically bare, save for the old brick of a TV in the corner that Dean nicked from a yard sale when he was fourteen, and the chipped, flaking guitar sadly gathering dust against a wall. He can play a bit, and he long ago perfected the intro to ‘Smoke on the Water’, but he’s nothing special; he mostly learned to impress Alastair, and that was obviously a waste of time.

Dean spins on his heel slightly to remind himself of the space he used to proudly call his own, the room he’d willingly spend hours in when he was sick of going downstairs and seeing John sprawled face-down on the couch. He spots his old Hot Wheels set on the floor over by the window, two of the cars lined up neatly at the starting line, and he cringes, thinking of Castiel’s reaction.

“It’s lovely.” Cas says, and there’s emotion in his voice that Dean doesn’t entirely understand. When Dean looks up at him he’s raking his meticulous gaze over every inch of the place, like he’s savouring it, storing it up for later. It’s weird. But not bad weird.

“So, uh, this is kinda awkward but you don’t mind, uh…” Dean brings a hand up to his hair again, and with his other he gestures vaguely towards the bed, “…like, sharing do you? I mean, I could try and find a sleeping bag or something if you’d rather I slept somewhere e-”

“Don’t be absurd. Of course I have no qualms with sharing a bed with you.” Castiel says, and he saunters over towards the bed at this, laying down his bag on the cornflower duvet and starting to shrug off his enormous coat. “If you wish to be intimate, it’s an extra seventeen-hundred, and we’ll discuss the payment beforehand-”

“Woah, woah!” Dean interrupts, and he’s pretty sure he’s flushed beetroot. He walks around to the other side of the bed, trying to get into Castiel’s line of sight. Cas looks surprised at Dean’s reaction. “That won’t be err… that won’t be necessary.”

Dean has enough to think about. Seriously, he has _enough._ He doesn’t need the temptation of Cas’s gorgeous pale skin beneath his fingers in the dead of night, in his damn childhood bed. He can definitely do without rogue thoughts of what those big, puffy lips would feel like, what they’d taste like if he bit down on them, the brush of the chapped, soft skin against his tongue. The thought actually makes him go a little weak at the knees, and he hopes Cas doesn’t notice the wobble. He needs no distractions, and especially no one night stands with expensive hookers, escorts, whatever- he’s cleaned out enough as it is. Heaven & Hell Escorts does not let their Angels out cheap, another seventeen hundred dollars would pretty much make him officially broke.

_Though it might be worth it._

Dean shakes that thought out of his brain immediately. What the hell is he thinking? He needs Castiel to play _pretend_. Let everyone think they’re at it like rabbits, let Sam and Jess and especially John think they’re fucking each other’s brains out, but he can’t _actually._ He’d lose his goddamn mind. Just look at the guy. Angel. Escort. Whatever.

“It’s completely your decision, Dean. It is in my contract to inform you, though.” Castiel says, and he smiles in reassurance, folding his coat up neatly and placing it on the chair by the bed.

“This is gonna be a long weekend.” Dean mutters, and he tries not to check out Castiel’s ass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I might post the next chapter today... that cool with everyone?


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh! Dean, Castiel, you’re all settled?”

Jess is so sweet, bless her, it’s not her fault this family is all kinds of messed up. Castiel is trailing behind Dean as they enter the kitchen, so Dean reaches back to clasp his wrist and pull him forwards into the light.

“Uh huh. Jess, where’s my Dad?” Dean asks before she can attempt to distract them with any more small talk. She freezes, spoon mid-stir in the cup of tea she’s preparing, and Dean waits, patient. See, Dean’s been in this family too long for someone to pull wool over his eyes that easily. He was the one that used to have to do this, to smile and distract and chatter absent-mindedly so that people wouldn’t see what was in plain sight if you looked properly.

John Winchester is an alcoholic. Dean knows this; it is a truth he acknowledges within the depths of his soul. That fact will not change. It didn’t change when he was nine and he had to learn how to wash Sam, how to feed him and care for him because John was never there, not mentally anyway. It didn’t change when he was fourteen and had to skip his last lessons in order to pick Sam up from school every day, because John would have passed out long before that time. It didn’t change when he was sixteen and his Dad hit him, gave him a black eye when he’d left for a week, because he needed a break from the crippling responsibility, and John accused him of running  out on the family, telling him Sam could have died without him there.

It’s not going to change now, when Cas is here, ready to please and charm and be the perfect boyfriend. Dean accepts this, and Jess will have to accept it too.

She lets out an eventual sigh. “Sam went to check on him. He’s in the den.”

Dean nods at her, a tight smile all he can manage to thank her for the reluctant information. He turns to go, ready to light this candle already, and hold Cas up like a fucking medal of honour, show his Dad that he’s worth something after all, even if it’s really only make-believe.

“Dean, wait.” Jess says, and he stops, turning back to look at her. Castiel hasn’t said a word this whole time. She holds up the mug of tea to him, an offering. “Take this. Might… y’know, help.”

Might sober him up, that’s what she means. Dean goes to take it from her, and it’s only then that he realises his fingers are still curled tightly around Castiel’s wrist. He feels a sharp wave of panic run through him, and he glances up at Cas’s expression to figure out his reaction. Castiel is staring at Dean, eyes searching and curious, but warm too, and he smiles.

Oh, right. They’re dating or whatever. Hand-holding is normal. Or wrist-holding. Is that normal? Probably not. But come on, who in this family would actually expect Dean Winchester to have a completely normal relationship? A little wrist-holding is hardly the worst thing that could have been witnessed.

He releases his grip on Cas and takes the tea, pushing down his remaining fear before turning to Cas and nodding. Luckily, Cas seems able to interpret this as ‘time to face the enemy’, and they start walking.

* * *

 

“C’mon Dad, don’t be like that, he’s your son-”

“Dean-o!” John cries, interrupting Sam mid-sentence, making the youngest Winchester blush and hide behind his hair. Dean walks into the room, Cas following closely, watching Dean’s face for any flickers of emotion that pass. “Get over here, boy!”

Dean smiles, and it’s so strained, his cheek muscles actually ache at the effort. John’s arms open for him, and he sidles over reluctantly, choosing to give his father a non-committal pat on the shoulder, leaning into his space a little in the illusion of an embrace. He places the tea down on a stack of hunting magazines piled on the table beside him. “Hey, Dad.”

The den smells just like it always did; like beer and something damp, musty. Probably the carpet, Dean thinks, his nose wrinkling slightly at the greenish shag pile beneath his feet. His Dad’s even on the same worn, tan armchair, riddled with more holes than the adventure golf course a couple’ blocks away; he looks like he hasn’t moved for a while too.

“And who’s this charming feller?” John asks, grinning sloppily as he eyes Cas. They haven’t even been introduced and already Dean can hear the smirk in his father’s voice. “The  _boyfriend_ is it?”

“Actually yeah.” Dean says, and he shoots his father the charming grin. The one he knows John despises. Before he can think clearly enough to see past the white hot rage burning through his mind, Dean paces backwards a little and threads his arm around Cas’s waist, pulling him forwards. “Dad, this is Castiel. Cas, my father John Winchester.”

“Good to meet you at last, Sir.” Castiel says, and he sticks out a friendly hand. Dean wants to kiss him – more than usual – he sounds so genuine. If he weren’t in on it, he’s pretty sure he’d believe Cas was his boyfriend too. John narrows his eyes at Castiel’s hand for a moment, but takes it, if a little sniffily. Dean sees Sam smile out of the corner of his eye. “You have such a lovely home; it must have been wonderful for Sam and Dean to grow up here.”

John’s eyebrows shoot up, and Dean can barely process that. Where did that come from? He may need a word with Cas about his just-outside-the-realm-of-normal comments. His smile is kind of infectious though, and Dean actually finds himself smiling too, as he tightens his grip a little on the guy’s waist.

“Castiel, eh?” John says, eyeing his tea suddenly like it’s poison. He lets his gaze run unashamedly up and down Castiel’s entire body, assessing. He barks a hollow laugh. “What in the hell kind of name is that?”

Dean stiffens - damn his father. Damn him to hell. Why does he have to turn every goddamn situation into something so awkward? So now the dude’s _name_ isn’t good enough? That’s when Castiel actually laughs, deep and full, filling the stale air. John looks as surprised as Sam and Dean at the sound, and he cocks an eyebrow.

“I suppose it is a little strange.” Castiel replies, in answer to John’s question. “My father tells me that my mother chose the name, on account of my being born on a Thursday, and Castiel being the Angel of that particular day.”

Dean’s a little speechless at that, he knows for a fact that they didn’t cover this in the backstory they thought up on the plane ride over here. Castiel could be lying – it could be part of his job, a pretence. But why would he need to? The name isn’t common, and he probably gets asked about it all the time, on and off duty. No, if he’s not mistaken, Castiel just gave out a piece of information about himself. The real him. Huh.

“Well whaddya know.” John says, and his mouth tilts up, amused.

“So.” Sam says, interrupting the dire conversation before John can say something even worse. “Who’s hungry?”

* * *

 

Sam’s diversion tactics are mediocre at best, but Dean’s not complaining, because… food. Luckily, everyone else seems of the same opinion, and Dean suspects it’s probably been a while since anyone in this house has eaten a proper meal, what with worrying about Dad and the wedding fiasco.

They trundle into the living room, Dean and Sam using their combined strength to hoist John out of his chair and keep him steady as he wobbles drunkenly on his feet. They link their arms through his and cleverly disguise what is basically them dragging their father through to the next room as a friendly family stroll.

As soon as they’ve deposited John onto one of the couches, Sam makes a beeline for the kitchen, presumably to find Jess, and Dean collapses on the other sofa, patting the space beside him a little awkwardly when Cas hesitates, as if unsure on protocol.

“Bobby said he might stop by later.” John drawls, and his words are a little strung out. Dean’s heart actually lifts at this information; he’d almost forgotten the added perk of seeing Uncle Bobby when he came home. He misses the grumpy lunatic. “He’ll be interested to meet your friend here.”

That’s it. The moment of fleeting happiness is gone. Sucked out of him by John’s cruel, mocking tone. “Boyfriend.” Dean corrects through gritted teeth as John grimaces, and it might be his imagination but he thinks he sees Cas smile a little beside him.

Sam and Jess come back in then, and their faces look a little strained for the first time since Dean met them at the airport. They sit beside Cas and Dean, Sam pulling Jess onto his lap in a gesture disguised as uncontrollable affection. Dean suspects that in reality Sam is just afraid of her sitting beside their father.

Dean manages to convince everyone present that ordering a stack of pizzas is the best way to go about feeding the current occupants of the household, and everyone seems too tired to argue. Dean doesn’t care; he hasn’t eaten since he left home, and pizza has always been his favourite. After pie. Obviously.

He orders the deep dish Chicago with extra cheese – of course – and grins when Sam rolls his eyes and notes down his request on the message pad next to the phone. Jess threads her hand into Sam’s long, tousled hair and plays idly while she ponders her choice, her nose wrinkled in thought as she conjures up the names of the various pizzas in her mind.

Inevitably, she jumps off Sam’s lap and runs to the kitchen, digging the ancient menu out of one of the drawers and studying it intently as she perches back on Sam’s knee.

Dean finds himself studiously observing Castiel’s order as Sam scribbles it down on the notepad, the phone held readily in place between his ear and shoulder. The Angel chooses a _margherita_ of all things, literally the most boring pizza on the menu – it’s just cheese and tomato! Dean quickly decides that he cannot be expected to sit idly by whilst his supposed boyfriend digs in to something so deliriously dull.

“No, no no.” Dean finds himself interrupting, and Sam and Cas look up, eyebrows raised, Sam’s pen stopping in its tracks. “Cas, you gotta order something _good,_ man!”

Castiel tilts his head a little at this, and Sam gives them both a small smirk.

“Let the guy order his own goddamn food, Dean!” John yells from his position on the couch opposite, and Dean feels his hairs begin to stand on end.

“Oh, that’s alright Mr Winchester. What would you suggest Dean?” Castiel asks after a pause, and Dean wants to wrap him in a hug for sticking on his side.

He vaguely notices Sam crossing a line through the word ‘margherita’ on the pad as he reaches over and snags the menu off the table beside the phone. “Something with _taste,_ I dunno!” Dean replies, his eyes flicking down to the menu in his hands as he shuffles over a little on the couch towards Castiel, so they can look together.

He can feel Cas’s gaze boring into him for several long moments before he relents and begins to pore over the laminated leaflet in Dean’s hand as well. “I really don’t have much experience in this area. You’re the expert in pizza, Dean. Why don’t you choose me something you think I’ll enjoy?”

Dean almost drops the menu when he hears that. He runs what Cas just said through his brain several times, scanning it meticulously for tell-tale signs that their whole relationship is fraudulent. How did he know to say that? Dean loves pizza, and yeah, he might have mentioned it in passing on the plane when they jokingly asked each other’s favourite food, colour, movie etc. But that was phenomenal! With that one breezy statement it’s as if he’s known Dean for months, has spent evenings curled up on the couch with him stuffing greasy slices into his mouth, or been taken on countless dates to Dean’s favourite pizza restaurant.

He realises he’s staring at Cas again, not replying, and that’s not going to help with the ‘believe-we’re-a-couple’ thing, so he averts his eyes, and clears his throat. “Yeah. Sure. Um…” He scans the list of names in front of him half-heartedly, picking one at random. “…he’ll have the Hawaiian.”

Sam smirks again, and he looks as if he’s witnessing an embarrassed boyfriend picking out what he knows is his lover’s favourite meal. It’s all just too perfect, no one in here even suspects a thing, Dean thinks, and he has Cas to thank for it.

“Hawaiian. Sounds exotic.” Castiel comments, and John snorts loudly from the other couch. Dean doesn’t miss the alarmed look Sam sends at him in anticipation of John’s oncoming comment, and he resolves to stay calm, for Sammy’s sake.

“Where the hell did ya find this guy, Dean? He’s never had a Hawaiian _pizza_? It’s like he’s from fuckin’ Mars or something.” John says, and he chuckles to himself darkly.

Sam’s fingers hover over the buttons of the phone, ready to dial, but not before assessing Dean’s response. If there’s a row, pizza is off the cards. Sam knows this far too well, and it kills Dean a little. Jess’s fingers grip Sam’s shirt collar, her doe-eyes wide.

“Yeah, well. He might be a Martian.” Dean replies, and he makes sure he maintains eye contact with John as he says each word. He feels his arm slipping around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and he’s too riled up to think about what he’s doing. “But I like him. So that’s all that matters, right?”

John narrows his eyes, and says nothing.

* * *

 

The doorbell goes about half an hour into the football game Dean decided it was necessary to put on TV in order to partially sedate their father. Jess leaps up, eager to be out of the room because football is obviously boring her to tears, and Dean’s stomach rumbles in anticipation. Castiel smirks at him when he hears, and Dean chuckles a little, shrugging at the Angel as if to say he can’t help it – he has needs.

“Hey guys! Someone order a feast?” A voice sings, and it sounds boyish, cheerful to Dean’s ears. He swivels in his seat, Cas and Sam turning with him to peer over the back of the couch at the boy following Jess into the living room, arms filled with pizza boxes, his baby blue eyes lit up by his thousand-watt smile.

“Adam!” Sam cries, jumping up from the sofa, a grin plastered across his face. Dean flashes the kid his own smile, laughing as Sam encircles him in a bear hug before wrestling the pizzas out of his hands. “Good to see you, dude.”

Adam laughs, watching Sam flip open the lid of the pizza on top and grab a slice immediately. Jess rolls her eyes at him and heads for the kitchen to get plates.

“Adam, get over here! How’s your mom these days?” John says, his voice suddenly amiable and fond. Adam jogs over to the couch, leaning down and giving the guy a warm hug. “You don’t stop by here often enough, boy. Stay! We got pizza.”

Dean is busy marvelling at how easily John has slid on the mask for this kid, acting for all the world like they’re having the perfect family dinner, and he’s the perfect Dad. He doesn’t notice the crease forming in Castiel’s brow, or how confused the Angel suddenly looks.

Adam laughs brightly, filling the air. “Mom’s good thanks, and I know, I _brought_ the damn pizza! I can’t stay John, I’d love to but I’m working!” He gestures at his bright red jacket proudly displaying the ‘Biggerson’s Pizza’ logo.

“You’re the pizza man?”

A chill runs through Dean’s veins as Castiel says the words, and he curses himself for being so unfathomably stupid. He never mentioned Adam to Castiel – but hell, he’d kind of looked past it, it’s not like the kid is that important in the grand scheme of things. But if he and Cas were in a real relationship, it’s highly likely that he would have mentioned Adam - the kid from a few streets over that stops by the house every few days – at some point isn’t it?

Has the seed of doubt been planted in everyone’s mind? Are people beginning to suspect Castiel is more of a stranger than Dean is making out? Adam looks up, surprise etched onto his face as he takes in the sight of Castiel, Dean’s arm still wrapped securely round his shoulders.

The kid grins. “Sure am! And you are?”

Dean exhales, trying not to let the flood of relief show on his face. It appears people can believe that Dean would keep relatively closed-mouthed about his home life. He supposes it figures.

“Castiel. Dean’s better half.” Cas replies with a twinkling smile, humour in his voice. “Pleased to meet you.”

He sticks out his hand for Adam to take, which the kid does, still grinning as he stands up and crosses the room to shake Dean’s fake-boyfriend’s hand. “Better half? You let him run around trash-talking you like that, Dean?” Adam asks, his eyes flicking to Dean’s briefly but not sticking, as if he can’t quite meet his gaze.

Dean supposes that’s the kind of treatment he’ll have to get used to now that he’s coming out to his family.

“Ah, I’ll get him back later. Someone’s gotta unpack and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me.” Dean replies smoothly, the lies coming easily to him after years of having to put on a front on account of his drunken father. Castiel lets out an exasperated sigh, giving Dean a fond-yet-annoyed look that he should surely get an Oscar for. Dean just grins at him, revelling in their game of pretend.

Adam smiles back at them both, and it almost looks a little sad. But he believes the lie, and that’s the main thing.

“It’s good to see you again, Dean.” Adam says, a little quietly, and then jumps as John swears loudly at the players on-screen.

“You too.” Dean replies, smiling at him and pulling Cas a little more towards him. “Thanks for the pizzas.”

“Hey Adam, you should come to my bachelor party!” Sam suddenly says, making Adam look over in surprise from where he is perched on the arm of the sofa, next to Dean and Cas. “You’re eighteen, right?”

Sam takes the plates from Jess, who sidles back into the room as though she’s walking on a cloud, and places them on the coffee table beside the pizzas. Dean stiffens a little, because suddenly he is uncomfortable with what Sam is suggesting, though he’s not entirely sure why.

“Sam, I’m nineteen! You’ve known me seven years! How do you not know how old I am?” Adam laughs, and for some reason the atmosphere gets a little tense, awkward.

There’s a long pause before Sam responds.

“Yeah, well. Okay, so it’s tomorrow night, think you can make it? Dean’s planned the whole thing so I don’t know what’s in store, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

Castiel looks up at Dean in surprise when he hears that he’s organised the entire bachelor party. Dean meets his gaze, finding the Angel smiling contemplatively, as though he’s truly amazed by the discovery. Which of course is ridiculous, seeing as the only skill Castiel has seen from Dean thus far is the ability to stay in control in the presence of his deadbeat Dad.

“Yeah, sure Sam. Sounds great!” Adam says enthusiastically, and he turns to flash a parting smile at all the men in the room, save for John – who is decidedly _not_ going to be attending because Dean demanded a night off from babysitting Dad for once. “I’ll stop by around seven?”

“See you then!” Sam agrees, and Adam glances briefly at his watch before waving cheerily at the people in the room, and making his exit.

“Awesome.” Dean says, and even he can tell that his tone is a little bitter. “Well, come on then folks, let’s eat.”

* * *

 

There’s a flurry of hands and mouths as everyone grabs their food. Dean snatches up Castiel’s Hawaiian and a plate for the poor guy, who looks a little lost in the midst of the sudden frenzy. Dean chuckles to himself internally; growing up with Sam will cure you of squeamishness in the table-manners department. Castiel takes both items from Dean gratefully and smiles like he’s been handed a puppy or something. Dean only has a limited time to admire the adorably thankful look Cas is giving him before he knows Sam will eat his pizza. So he turns back and grabs his Chicago deep dish quickly, wasting no time before tucking right in.

Dean doesn’t need a plate, he’s hungry as hell and he knows for a fact this pizza place is all kinds of awesome. He used to get his and Sam’s dinner at Biggerson’s a lot when they were growing up, and that’s probably bad because nutritional value blah blah, but Dean was a kid. He barely knew what he was doing; in his eyes it’s a miracle he and Sam grew up at all.

The atmosphere gets a lot lighter once there is food in people’s hands, and Sam and Jess curl up next to each other on the floor with a few cushions, sharing slices and generally canoodling in a disgustingly cute manner.

John even ceases his disgruntled commentary of the match long enough to shovel his Mushroom and Spinach covered monstrosity into his mouth, and Dean actually lets himself relax a little for the first time. He peers over at Cas next to him, to find the guy staring curiously at the pizza open in front of him, untouched.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab some drinks, what do you guys want?” Jess asks suddenly, standing up a little shakily as Sam tugs on her hand, distracting Dean from Cas for a second.

“Beer please, babe.” Sam says, not thinking, his eyes trained on the TV. Dean freezes a little, eyeing John with a worried expression. How could Sam be so thoughtless? Now John’s going to demand more alcohol with the excuse that Sam’s drinking, and he’ll become impossible.

“I’ll have…” John starts to say, and he catches Dean’s eye. Dean stares levelly, his mouth a firm line, and he sees John’s gaze flick to Cas for a split second. “…we got any of that tomato juice left, Jess?”

She visibly relaxes at his words, along with everyone else in the room save for Cas, who is still staring at his pizza as if it’s going to come alive.

“Yeah, sure John.” She replies, and turns her attention to the other sofa. “Dean, Cas, beer?”

Castiel glances up at the sound of his name, albeit briefly. “That would be lovely, thank you Jess.”

Dean smiles at his formal reply and nods at Jess, winking so she rolls her eyes.

With Jess on drinks duty, Dean turns back to Cas, ready to sort out his sudden inability to eat a perfectly good pizza.

“Cas?” Dean asks, smiling a little as he leans towards the Angel. Castiel looks up, wide-eyed. “You’re supposed to eat the pizza.”

“I’m aware of that, Dean.” Castiel says, and Dean just smiles wider; he sounded almost _cross._ Adorable. “What will it taste like?”

Dean sighs and takes a large bite of his own pizza, closing his eyes as he savours the smoky flavour on his tongue. “Like Heaven, Cas. Just try it.” Castiel stares at him narrowly for a moment, as if debating whether he should obey this order. Dean chuckles and catches sight of John watching them out of the corner of his eye. He decides to lay it on extra thick. “For me?” He all but bats his lashes at the guy.

Castiel’s suspicious expression melts completely off his face at Dean’s request, and almost immediately he reaches into the box before him, taking hold of a pineapple-laden slice and bringing it to his coral lips.

Dean’s never been one for food porn particularly – whipped cream being the exception of course – but seeing the thick, crusty bread, brimming with thin pink strips of ham and juice-engorged pineapple chunks, slip past Castiel’s parted lips was something he could only just handle.

Castiel’s eyes close as his teeth tear off a small piece, and Dean is very vaguely aware of Jess coming back into the room, placing a bottle beside him, but he is transfixed, utterly absorbed in Castiel’s reaction. Jess hands out the other drinks and realises quickly that everyone is staring at Cas having his first bite of Hawaiian pizza. She slumps back down next to Sam, and sees why.

Cas is chewing slowly, his eyes still closed, the pizza rolling around on his tongue as he absorbs the unique flavour. His jaw and throat contract sinfully as he swallows, and he makes a sound, a quiet ‘mmm’. It’s several long moments before Dean realises he’s holding his slice of pizza aloft in mid-flight to his own mouth.

Castiel opens his eyes, smiling. “You were right, Dean. It’s delicious.”

Sam lets out a sarcastic cheer and congratulates Dean on his superior knowledge of his boyfriend’s tastebuds, before holding up a slice of pizza for Jess to nibble.

“Uh, no worries man. Glad you like it.” Dean says to Cas, biting into his own pizza now just to give himself a distraction. Christ, that was overwhelming.

Everyone continues eating, Cas’s pornographic display over, and Dean catches John’s eye again. He’s eyeing the two of them thoughtfully, his eyes fixing on Cas as though he’s assessing something.

Yeah, try and tell me I’m making it all up when there’s solid proof in front of you Dad, Dean thinks, maybe a little smugly.

“I hope you idjits got enough pizza for the _whole_ family.”

Everyone in the room starts at the sound of the unfamiliar voice sailing through from the hallway. It’s mere moments before Bobby strolls in, his omnipresent trucker’s cap pulled firmly down over his forehead, and Dean’s heart surges.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stroll into someone’s house uninvited?” John calls to Bobby, his eyes not leaving the TV screen.

“Yeah, I figured that rule don’t apply to family.” Bobby replies, shrugging off his coat and throwing it on a nearby chair.

“Bobby!” Dean cries, jumping up from the couch and jostling Cas a little in his sudden desperate attempt to divert the conversation away from its current path. He strides over to the man in record time, flinging his arms around him and grinning like a lunatic. “I missed you, you grumpy son of a bitch, how you been?”

Bobby smells the same as ever – like leather and oil with a hint of whiskey. It should be repulsive, but to Dean it smells like home.

“Alright, that’s enough cuddling.” Bobby grumbles after a few long seconds, shrugging Dean off and fixing him with a look. “Jeez, you run away to the city for a few years and you’re gayer than a maypole.”

Things get awkward then, understandably. Dean’s about to break the news gently, say that actually, yeah, he is, always has been, and this is Cas etc- but John gets there first. 

“Woah, touchy subject there, Bob.” John chuckles, and he takes a long sip of tomato juice, grimacing at the taste. He tears his gaze away from the screen at last, grinning up at Dean before gesturing at Cas, still on the couch. “Dean here’s decided to fling himself out of the closet at long last, isn’t that great? It’s got nothing to do with this weekend being Sam’s wedding and all, obviously.”

“Dad, give it a rest.” Sam says, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Jess’s shoulder. John fumes a little, and glances at Jess, but he sees he’s outnumbered for once, and stays quiet.

“Dean?” Bobby asks, his brow creased in obvious confusion – probably down to the fact that last time Dean was here he had a gorgeous, brunette, very _female_ yoga instructor hanging off his arm.

Dean sighs, hoping to hell that Bobby, one of his favourite people in the world might be able to get over this little fact. “Yeah, Bobby. Dad’s right… I’m- I mean, I’m…”

“Robert Singer. My name is Castiel. I’m Dean’s date for the wedding.” Again, the Angel has managed to materialise beside him in the nick of time, just as Dean’s floundering, ready to catch him in a trust fall. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard so much about you.”

In reality he’s heard a five-minute summary of Bobby’s life and his relationship with the Winchester family up to this point whilst on a plane. But he didn’t seem to require any additional information other than what Dean told him, so he figures Cas must be able to work with what he’s got.

It takes a couple of moments for Bobby to close his mouth and take the hand Castiel holds out for him, but he does, and that’s what’s important. Baby steps. Who knows what Bobby’s thinking right now - Dean probably doesn’t want to know - but he hopes dearly that one day Bobby might be able to accept him, flaming homosexuality and all. Or at least muster up the strength and family values to ignore his apparent character flaw.

“Cassiel? The Angel of solitude and tears, right?” Oh yeah, Bobby’s also a genius. He’s read more books on the mythological and strange than there are in all the Kansas libraries combined.

“Ah, close.” Cas says, smiling broadly. “It’s Castiel actually. The Angel of Thursday.”

“Huh. Dean was born on a Thursday.” Bobby says, eyeing Castiel with a kind of wary curiosity. Dean’s a little more than stunned. “Any pizza left, boy?”

The entire room is filled with the sound of everyone’s relieved exhalations. Bobby seems remarkably non-fussed, and it’s wonderful. Dean couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. He suddenly wants to collapse, to fall into bed and let the stress that’s built up within him over the course of coming out to four separate family members and one pizza boy in one day just seep out of him.

But that’s not an option just yet.

“Tons, dude.” Dean replies, slamming a hand down on Bobby’s shoulder and steering him towards the pizza boxes on the table. “I’ll grab you a beer.”

* * *

 

The past couple of hours have been - if Castiel were to describe it in clinical, business terms - stressful. Having to tactfully deflect the put-downs aimed at him from Dean’s drunken father, along with comforting Dean and meeting two other unexpected members of the (extended) family, one of which he had not been provided with the clip notes for, was difficult.

But it had also been enjoyable. Often, on his ‘dates’, Castiel finds himself growing tired, his mind wandering slightly to what he might have for dinner later on rather than focusing on the individual. With Dean, it is almost entirely impossible for Castiel to become tired or distracted at any point, because right from the start, Dean has been so _interesting._

He’s finding himself letting go a little, allowing himself to relax and just enjoy Dean’s company. The pizza move had been a tactic of course, a very well-known one in fact – allowing Dean to choose the pizza gives the illusion that he is in control, and is therefore dominant in the relationship, but it also gives off the impression that Dean is fully aware of how to satisfy his lover’s needs, even in this small sense – with what pizza he would enjoy most. But aside from its merits in terms of the job Castiel is currently working, it was also _fun._ Flirting with Dean as he picked out a pizza he thought would suit his tastes best, and then eating it for the first time, letting the brand new flavours fill his palette while Dean watched… it was exhilarating. And extremely enjoyable.

Castiel rarely enjoys himself.

Now, sitting on the couch with Bobby Singer, sharing that same Hawaiian pizza while Dean gets more beer, Castiel is mildly concerned. Now that Dean has decided to come out to his family, Castiel is worried that his insecurities will hinder this process going as smoothly as it should.

Castiel can see it; he can read it in Dean’s face as he assesses people’s reactions to his and Dean’s physical proximity. John Winchester, by reacting so negatively towards Dean’s homosexual confession, has destroyed Dean’s confidence about coming out, in the way only a father can. John reacts negatively to everything Dean does, and this is no different, but what Dean doesn’t yet understand is that not everyone will react this way – in fact, the likelihood is that very few people will react this way. Especially not his family. It is up to Castiel to help him realise this.

Bobby Singer did not have a problem with Dean and Castiel’s supposed relationship. The emotions that flickered across the older man’s face when he realised what he was being told resembled concern – probably for Dean, in the face of his father’s relentless torment, now with extra ammunition – and relief. The latter emotion confuses Castiel somewhat, but he suspects it’s because he doesn’t know the whole picture.

Dean has been through a struggle – his life has been a constant battle for him, probably stemming from some unknown trauma in his past. The look of relief on Bobby’s face could signify that he thinks this battle is over for Dean, now that he has found Castiel, and he is glad.

Part of Cas hopes this is the case, and part of him doesn’t.

The clip notes Dean had given Cas on the plane had been brief but perfectly satisfactory. Castiel feels confident that he will be able to converse with Bobby Singer to the point where he will believe he has been in an established relationship with a man who knows him very well indeed.

Castiel’s mind flashes back to the plane journey over here, running over the facts he’s stored in his mind:

_“Okay, so I gotta say Castiel. I don’t… I don’t really got a whole lot of family.” Dean’s eyes are nervous, darting about as he chews his lip. “And the ones I have, I don’t really like.”_

_Castiel raises his eyebrows at this confession, leaning forwards in his seat to bring himself closer to Dean – a clear signal that he is listening intently. “That’s alright, Dean. Tell me.”_

_“I like Sammy, my little brother, obviously. And Jess, his fiancé I love that girl. He’s got good taste.” Dean pauses, thinking, and he tilts his head so he can stare at the clouds drifting past the window. Something seems to come to him suddenly, and he’s meeting Castiel’s gaze again, his emerald eyes wide and bright. “Oh, and Uncle Bobby of course. Bobby Singer. He’s my Dad’s friend – he used to buy his hunting rifles off Dad before… well.”_

_Castiel’s brow creases almost imperceptibly when Dean trails off, wondering what could have been ‘before’. “Is he your real Uncle?”_

_“No, no. Just my Dad’s friend, no actual relation, the lucky guy. He’s more like a hostage.” Dean laughs at his own joke, and Castiel has to admit, it’s amusing. “But they were real close once, he’s practically family. Hell, sometimes that guy was more of a Dad to me and Sam than ours ever was.” Dean smiles bitterly, though his soul looks tortured. Castiel winces in sympathy with him. “He works as a mechanic, down at this scrapyard he owns just outside of town. He goes hunting in his spare time though, when he’s not reading up on all things magical and creepy. No idea why he’s into that stuff, but hey, he’s more knowledgeable about wiccans and leviathan than any other guy I know.”_

_“What’s a leviathan?” Castiel asks, tilting his head._

_“Damned if I know, man. Ask Bobby.” Dean chuckles, and Castiel smiles with him. “He used to take me and Sam hunting now and again. When Dad was too drunk to look after us at all, Bobby’d sometimes pick us up, take us to stay with him for a while. He’d give us real guns and teach us how to follow the tracks in the bracken, all that. But he could never get either of us to pull the trigger on a goddamn deer.”_

_Dean’s laughing now, remembering some funny trip from his childhood where this Bobby got more and more frustrated with the two young boys that refused to kill a harmless creature. Castiel laughs at his own image he’s conjured; it’s hilarious. He can see that. “You never shot one?”_

_“You’re talkin’ about Bambi, man!” Dean exclaims, still grinning. Then he gets a little more serious, contemplating something that Castiel again can’t fathom. “Though I guess you don’t shoot Bambi, huh. You shoot Bambi’s mom.”_

_Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He’s never seen Bambi._

_The conversation moves onto other things._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you ask him, Dean will deny that the thought of sharing a bed with Castiel has been on his mind for the entire evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a tad early cause I'm going up to Laaandaan (London) in a few ;) 
> 
> Hopelessly glad you're all enjoying it so far! x

The evening passes in an easy way after that. Bobby stays for a long time, watching the game and chastising the players along with John. Sam and Jess start to droop around ten, and Castiel figures it’s probably down to all the wedding stuff they’ve been doing over the past few weeks.

They head up to bed not long after that, Jess stopping to give everyone a parting kiss on the cheek before they head upstairs, even Cas himself, which he returns with a warm smile. He gets the feeling that Jess really seems to like him. It’s good; if Dean’s family are starting to warm to him, convincing them of their relationship will be much easier.

Dean looks pretty worn out himself, probably from all the anxiety he feels about telling his family the big news. Castiel studies him for a moment, much to Dean’s amusement, and concludes that they will be retiring to bed themselves soon if Dean’s drooping eyelids are anything to go by.

“Dean?” Castiel says quietly, and Dean leans towards him to hear him better. They’re pressed pretty close anyway, despite the rest of the couch being free of people now. It’s all about the little things though; couples like to be cuddled up together. “Where is your bathroom?”

“Oh, just upstairs, turn left, first door you come to.” Dean says, and he sounds a little strange as he describes the position of the room.

Castiel smiles, nods and rises from the couch, noticing John watch him like a hawk as he does so.

* * *

 

The upstairs of Dean’s old house is strange. Castiel noticed it before when he’d come up with Dean to see his childhood bedroom; on one end of the hall - the part where Dean’s room is, and leading up to the bathroom door - everything looks stereotypically suburban, with a dado rail running along the walls, separating the cream-coloured wall from the olive green panelling below. The doors are all eggshell white, with round wooden handles and there’s a fuzzy pistachio carpet under his feet.

The far end of the hall is a very different story. Castiel knows he shouldn’t pry, he shouldn’t go down that end at all, there’s no need – and he didn’t miss how uncomfortable Dean looked when he saw the obvious refurbishment – but it’s all very mysterious. He almost can’t help himself.

He edges along the corridor, jumping a little when he feels the floor change from carpet to cold hard oak under his feet. Strange – why would you change the flooring halfway down the hall? He’s past the bathroom door by now, and if Dean comes to find him he’s going to have to answer some tricky questions, but he ploughs on, very quietly, wondering where Sam and Jess sleep in this house of enigmas.

When he reaches the other end of the hall he pauses, peering left and right in the darkness. There’s a door on either side of him and a window in front, large and widely panelled, with a thick, square black frame. He tilts his head as he looks at the window, not worrying about the view of the street outside particularly. He wonders what he finds so strange about the window itself, and then realises it’s because there are no curtains, not even a blind to obscure the sight of the world beyond. The view of John Winchester’s neighbours is stripped away, completely naked for Castiel or whoever else to nosily peer at from this upstairs viewpoint.

He looks at both the doors either side of him, marvelling at how their black, metallic look contrasts so startlingly with Dean’s modest wooden one. What an odd decision to make when redecorating – to choose a modern, chromatic look for just one end of the upstairs of your house. Even the walls are different, painted one colour; a single, sheer white.

Before Castiel can come up with any explanation behind what he has discovered, the door to his left swings open and Jess walks out, a surprised ‘oh!’ escaping her lips when she sees Castiel standing in front of her in the dark. There's too little light to make out anything in the interior of the room she just came from, and she quickly pulls the door shut after her, as though she’s trying to block Castiel’s view – probably of Sam, he reasons. Perhaps her fiancé is only partially dressed.

Jess looks very different in the low lighting, her blonde hair dulled to a mousey colour and slightly static, as though it’s recently been brushed through. She is wearing a cropped grey t-shirt with ‘The Smurfs’ on the front, a television programme Castiel has never watched, but has at least heard of.

“Castiel? Are you lost?” Jess asks, her face and voice full of concern, with maybe a tiny hint of suspicion. Well, she did just essentially catch him snooping.

Castiel smiles at her sheepishly, faith in the fact that he is good at this part: the convincing.

“I think I am, I was looking for the bathroom…” Castiel replies, and he turns around, creasing his brow and looking about for added effect.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll show you.” Jess says, letting out a relieved breath. Her usual bright smile climbs back into place as she takes his arm and leads him back up the hallway. “I was just headed in there – you don’t mind do you?”

Castiel is a little confused, and he is about to ask what she means, but in seconds he finds himself being ushered into the bathroom, Jess following him inside and locking the door behind them. His eyes grow wide and alarmed.

“Oh, I, um…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave in a sec, just gotta cleanse. It’s really important that I do it – can’t have any zits on my big day, Cas!”

Castiel smiles at her, the most indulgent one he can muster up after he’s basically been locked in a confined space with a woman he barely knows, and she walks over to the sink, wasting no time before filling it with warm water. She stares up at her reflection in the oval mirror for a few moments, and then her eyes flicker to Cas behind her, standing awkwardly and fidgeting.

“So.” Jess says, and she smiles mischievously. Her voice sounds almost conspiratorial. “Tell me then.”

Castiel is pretty sure that Jess must have left all of her sanity back in the room with Sam, because he simply can’t fathom what is going on right now. Is this common practice for families? To share bathrooms with each other? He just wanted to pee.

“Tell you…”

“Tell me about you and Dean!” Jess exclaims, exasperated, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She turns off the tap and spins to face him, grabbing a bottle of something pink in the process. “It’s _so_ great he found someone at last, Cas. You’ve no idea, Dean is just the best guy.” Castiel smiles, thinking that his intuition is really pretty damn good, and Jess squeezes some of the pink goo onto her fingers. “I mean, it’s good that he found someone _right._ Obviously he had girls, and he brought that Lisa chick up here before but that’s not exactly-”

“Dean brought girls up here before me?” Castiel asks, head tilting in curiosity. He feels something else too, something… _other_ burning in his fingertips. It’s a strange sensation, but he has an instant dislike for these women he’s never even met – which is nonsensical.

Jess pauses, eyes wide as she smears some goo onto her cheeks. “Uh oh. Have I said something I shouldn’t?”

Castiel smiles at her reassuringly, putting her immediately at ease. “No, no. I’m sure it just slipped his mind. Though that makes it easier to understand why John might have had such trouble adjusting to the idea of Dean and I.”

Jess nods, shrugging as she pats on more goo. Castiel looks away, his lips pressing together slightly. In all honesty, he doesn’t believe that Dean bringing women to meet his father to disguise the fact he is gay is any sort of justification for the way John has been acting. These women that Jess talks of are evidence that Dean has been feeling as though he needs to hide who he is. Around his own father!

The women do explain a lot though – why nobody in Dean’s family has even suspected the homosexuality within him until now. It makes sense, Castiel thinks. He suddenly sees Jess in a whole new light: as a potential source of information about Dean’s life, a confidante, as well as another person to lie to.

“So are you crazy about him?” Jess asks, and for one very fleeting, very surreal moment Castiel thinks she is talking about John. Castiel momentarily wants to shout ‘no!’, but quickly remembers who he is here to pretend to love.

“I am extremely fond of your future brother-in-law, yes.” Castiel says, and he’s proud that it isn’t even a lie, not really. Granted, he hasn’t known Dean for very long, but he can already see the goodness inside of him. And he already very much likes the nervous, witty, flirtatious personality he’s seen in Dean thus far.

Jess is scraping off the goo with a flannel now, but she turns to look at Castiel, mouthing ‘aw’ at him and smiling widely. Castiel wonders if he should say more, but he doesn’t want to come off like he’s trying too hard. Plus his angle is usually to be the adorable, slightly shy counterpart to his significant other at the time. And as Lucifer would say: ‘ _we must play our roles_ ’.

“O-kay.” Jess says cheerily once she’s rinsed her face a few times. Her skin is slightly damp and flushed; she looks precious, bright-eyed and youthful. “I’ll get out of your hair then. Hope you didn’t mind my intrusion.”

Castiel shakes his head and smiles at her. “Not at all. I enjoyed our chat, Jessica. Goodnight.”

Jess rolls her eyes and leans forwards to give him another peck on the cheek. “It’s Jess, you silly billy. I’m not done probing by the way – I live for gossip, and you’re gonna tell me everything about you and Dean by the end of this weekend, alright? Night, Cas.”

She barely waits for an answer other than a smile and a nod, and then she’s gone, dancing out of the room like the floor is ice and she’s wearing paper thin skates. Castiel closes the door behind her, and blinks in mild shock.

What in the world just occurred?

* * *

 

Dean excuses himself moments after Cas stands up to go to the bathroom, slipping out into the kitchen while Bobby and John are in the midst of an – admittedly one-sided – argument with a football ref who can’t see or hear them. It’s not that he was waiting for Cas to disappear or anything, of course not, in fact if anything it’s the opposite. Tonight has been unexpectedly okay, and that’s a hundred percent down to the nerdy little Angel he brought along for the ride.

He just wants to text Jo.

As he was saying goodbye during his last shift at the Roadhouse the night before he left, Jo was practically unbearable, giving him snippets of advice left, right and centre, but above all telling him that if he didn’t at least call or text once a day, she was going to make his life a living hell. Dean has no doubts about her abilities to do this; she has a lot of power at her fingertips – particularly in regards to Ellen, who Dean really needs on his side at the moment.

He taps out a quick message, leaning against the worktop:

 **To: Jo**  
From: Dean  
10:21pm  
hey jo  
arrived with cas  
dad not 2 pleasd but hrdly a  
surprise.  
sam ws fine, think jess rly  
likes cas 2 which is kl.  
evrythin gd bk home?  
dean x

He scans it once, concluding that it’s an adequately informative-yet-vague description of his and Cas’s excursion thus far. He presses send, and takes a moment to glance around his old kitchen. He likes this room because, unlike a lot of the house, it’s never changed. He remembers seeing the same brass pots and pans hanging from the rack over the sink when he was younger than four, patting at them like a mobile from someone’s warm soft arms.

Jo’s never one to hang about though.

 **To: Dean**  
From: Jo  
10:23pm  
Dean! Ffs! What do u  
take me for? U cant just  
pass me off on that bllsht  
and skimp on the details.  
I want 2 know EVERYTHING  
about this guy, right down 2  
what he fkin SMELLS like.  
P.S. How ws the plane – bad?  
P.P.S. ‘Cas’ eh? ;)  
Jo xx

Dean skim reads the message and chuckles to himself. He should have known, really. Jo likes to hear gossip, she always has, it’s part of the reason they’re such good friends – because Dean likes _to_ gossip. He sighs, defeated, and opens another new message, preparing to divulge.

 **To: Jo**  
From: Dean  
10:24pm  
ok ok :L he’s gorgeous jo  
but thts hardly a surprise is it  
hes got these eyes man  
lyk ocean blue or sum shit idk  
ur laughing @ me I can tell  
but GOD hes sxy. Im worried  
I wont b able 2 keep my hands  
off him lol.  
hes rly funny 2 – hed nvr had  
hawyan pizza b4 so I made  
him try it and omg the noises  
he made I thought I was gna  
hv 2 leave the room lol.  
hes got sum weird stuff 2  
lyk personal space issues – nt  
rly complaining bout tht 1 – and  
saying sum weird stuff if u dnt  
watch him but hes awesome  
I rly lyk him so far. Plus hes  
rly easy on the eyes so thts  
a bonus haha – gotta share  
a bed with him 2nite tht  
shud b interesting hope  
I dnt grind on him in my  
sleep.  
P.s plane was actually fine  
cas bumped me up to 1st  
class and kinda distracted  
me :P  
Satisfied?  
Dean x

Hopefully the world’s longest message will keep Jo happy until he can find another chance to talk to her, probably tomorrow night before the bachelor party. He locks his phone and slides it back into his pocket, ready to head back out into the living room or find Cas, but he feels another vibration against his thigh. Record texting speed, Jo.

 **To: Dean**  
From: Jo  
10:24pm  
Woah Dean! U do know  
hes essentially a hooker right?  
Dont go developing a crush on  
this guy – tho it sounds lyk its  
a little l8 4 tht!  
Why dont u indulge in his  
‘extra services’? ;)  
might help with the  
frustration lol  
Jo x  


Dean snorts when he reads her message, rolling his eyes. As if he has a crush on Cas! Already? He’s known the guy what, half a day? He’ll admit it feels like longer just because he’s been staring at the guy’s profile page non-stop for the past week, but still. And he’s a goddamn escort! It’s so absurd he can’t even be bothered to call Jo out on it, so he just ignores that part.

 **To: Jo**  
From: Dean  
10:26pm  
It costs $1700 to sleep with  
him :L  
Dean x

This time, his phone vibrates while it’s still in his hand.

 **To: Dean**  
From: Jo  
10:26pm  
:O!!! Thts the down  
paymnt on a ford  
focus!!!!  
Jo x

Dean laughs out loud, and then looks around himself, checking nobody heard. He doesn’t particularly want anyone to question him about what he’s doing currently.

 **To: Jo**  
From: Dean  
10:26pm  
Ikr. Here I was thinkin  
hookrs were the cheaper  
option.  
Gtg jo cas will be wondrin  
where I am  
night night x

 **To: Dean**  
From: Jo  
10:26pm  
Try not 2 spoon him ;)  
night x

Sighing, Dean tucks away his cell, a smile still on his face from his conversation with his best friend. She and Ellen had been invited to the wedding, as Sam knows them from the times he’s come to stay with Dean – getting fewer and far between now that Sam’s out of school – but Ellen had insisted she couldn’t leave the Roadhouse shut for that long. Last time Dean checked, Jo was still pleading with her mom to let her go down for the ceremony on the Saturday and come back straight after. As far as he knows, Ellen is still adamant that this is not happening.

He saunters back out into the living room, his mind filled with thoughts of how great it would be if Jo could be there during Sammy’s big day, so he’d have his best friend to laugh and make fun of the guests with. He wonders how she and Cas would get on; probably quite well he imagines. Jo is funny like that – she likes intelligence, and she likes respect. Cas has both of those things in abundance.

Castiel enters the room as Dean approaches the back of the couch, and they stand together, smiling at each other for a moment.

“Right, well I’d best be off I think.” Bobby says wearily, breaking their weird staring moment. The old hunter slowly peels himself off of the couch and stands, brushing his hands together to get rid of the few stray pizza crumbs.

“No, Bobby, stay!” John cries, a touch too loudly. Bobby shakes his head, tired but firm.

“Nah, can’t do it John. Got a thousand and one things to do in the shop tomorrow.” Bobby replies, referring to the auto-repair shop he runs from his scrap-yard.

“Great to see you, Bobby.” Dean says, interrupting whatever further protestation John was about to make. He wanders over towards the older man, clapping a hand on his shoulder and starting to walk with him towards the door. “You’re gonna be getting real sick of my ugly mug over the next few days, so I don’t blame ya for wanting to scoot.”

Dean grins and Bobby rolls his eyes, tutting at Dean’s typical self-deprecation. They walk past Cas en-route to the front door and Bobby stops in his tracks, obviously wanting to say goodbye. Dean is a little shell-shocked. He finds himself with a sudden lump in his throat and he’s not sure why.

“Nice to meet you, son. Don’t know you well yet, but you seem like a hell of a young man.” Bobby nods at him, and even shoots him a rare, brief smile. Castiel doesn’t miss it, he drinks it up in fact, and returns it with a bright one of his own. “Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Mr Singer. Wonderful to meet you too.”

“Nah, call me Bobby. You might as well, everyone else does.” Castiel nods, and it’s like a promise. Bobby turns back to Dean then, clearly having grown uncomfortable with the emotional content of the current situation. Dean’s an expert in that area, so he steers Bobby away again.

Once they reach the front door, Dean can just sense that he’s in for a mini heart-to-heart. Sure enough, Bobby stops him on the front step, and puts a hand on his shoulder. He still looks awkward, so Dean has the courtesy to look more at his feet rather than in the eye.

“Listen Dean, I don’t wanna make this some big touchy-feely moment so I’ll be quick. You’re doin’ something mighty brave right about now.” Bobby says, and Dean feels the chill of the air whip through the open door. “Tellin’ everyone about you and him? That’s gotta be hard. More than hard, I can’t barely imagine it. Your family are a kind, accepting bunch of folk though Dean, you’ve gotta remember that. Just because your Daddy ain’t got no clue about how to treat a person- how to treat his own _son –_ it don’t mean that no one else won’t.”

Dean looks up then, and nods like he understands, though in truth he’s a bit hazy. He still feels that lump in his throat, the one that lodged itself there when Bobby stopped to say goodbye to Cas, and it’s not going away.

“That Castiel…” Bobby says, trailing off thoughtfully. Dean’s eyes shoot up to meet his again; suddenly Bobby holds his full attention. “…he’s good for you, Dean. I can tell. He’ll help you through this. Thank God for that one I would, boy. Hell, maybe he is a damn Angel.”

Bobby laughs then, and Dean joins in. He hopes Bobby doesn’t notice his own is slightly hysterical.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. I’m gonna get outta here before we both start growing lady-parts.”

They say goodnight, and Bobby leaves, getting in his truck and driving away into the silent night stretching around them.

* * *

 

“Shall we go upstairs?” Castiel whispers to Dean, because John is sleeping on the couch, slumped over like he’s been thrown there.

Dean’s mouth goes dry, and he looks down at Castiel in surprise, telling himself over and over that it’s a completely platonic thing to say, Cas is probably just tired, there is no reason for all of his blood to rush south at that one innocent statement.

He’s gone mute though, no amount of inner chanting is going to help with that, so Dean just nods, gesturing for Cas to head up first, which he does.

By the time Dean has switched off the TV, cleared away the pizza boxes and beer bottles, put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, covered his passed out father with a blanket and traipsed up the stairs, Cas has managed to change into pyjamas and hop into bed.

Dean stops for five full seconds, revelling in the sight that is Castiel in a thin grey t-shirt, under the covers, waiting patiently in his bed.

“Is everything alright, Dean?” Castiel asks, his expressive eyes filled with concern. He’s sitting propped against the headboard, with two pillows behind his back to cushion him. He’s obviously been sitting there, waiting for Dean to come up and join him in bed before going to sleep. The guy must be exhausted too, Dean thinks. It’s adorable, but it also makes him feel really bad.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Cas.” Dean smiles, and he closes the bedroom door finally, trying to ignore the burn of Castiel’s inquisitive gaze. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

“I didn’t want you to be the last one left awake.”

Dean pauses in his journey towards the other side of the bed, letting Castiel’s words sink in. That’s a little strange maybe, but it’s also a very sweet thing to say. Man, Cas has got this escort thing down.

“Well, thanks.” Dean replies, and shoots him a smile. It gets a little awkward then, because Castiel isn’t the kind of guy who looks away, and Dean’s still fully dressed. He shifts a little for a moment, wondering if he should grab his stuff and go to the bathroom to change, but then he figures that getting changed in separate rooms every day would look weird to everyone else in the house, considering he and Cas supposedly see each other naked all the time.

In the end, he’s just too damn tired. He reasons that Cas must have a fair bit of experience with this kind of thing, so Dean getting changed in front of him is hardly going to faze the guy. He turns towards his bag, picking it up and throwing it on the bed in one smooth motion.

He pulls off his shirt first, letting his fingers hook under the hem and twisting it inside out as it goes over his head, exposing his lean, muscled torso in one fluid movement because he can’t resist giving Cas a show, even if it’s kind of pointless.

He knows he’s fairly toned, and he’s a little proud of his tanned body if he’s honest with himself. Cas will probably be steadfastly unimpressed; he’s undoubtedly seen hundreds more beautiful and sculpted bodies than the one Dean has to offer, but hey, you have to flaunt what you’ve got. And Dean is, though he knows it’s futile.

He’s just about to reach for his faded Motorhead t-shirt – the one he got free off some druggie at a concert he snuck into when he was thirteen – when he hears Cas suck in a surprised gasp. He freezes, eyes flicking to Cas’s, trying not to think about the fact Cas’s gaze seems glued to his chest, eyes wide, lips parted.

“Oh,” Cas breathes, leaning forwards a little and then pausing quickly, as though stopping himself just in time in his haste to get a closer look, “you have a tattoo?”

Dean feels himself blushing furiously, and it’s so stupid, but he suddenly wants to cover himself, to shield the damn thing from Cas’s staring eyes. Castiel gives the impression of an intellectual – he’s undoubtedly disgusted by Dean’s decision to decorate himself.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Dean fumbles, reaching across the bed to grab his t-shirt at last, “sorry, uh…”

Castiel looks a little disappointed as Dean pulls the tee over his head, covering the tattoo, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he just looks wistful. “It’s beautiful. Is there a story behind it?”

That strikes Dean dumb for a moment, because wait – Cas thinks his stupid tat is _beautiful_? He lets out a slightly disbelieving chuckle. “Uh, kinda.” When Castiel looks up at him expectantly, he realises he’s going to need to tell the story. Feeling awkward about just standing there, he sits carefully on the edge of the bed, turning to look at Cas. “Well uh, it was when Sammy graduated law school. He rang me up and told me he was coming down to Detroit to celebrate. Naturally, I took him out to get wasted.”

“Naturally.” Castiel agrees, an amused smile on his face. Dean just about manages to resist the urge to kiss it off.

“In hindsight, it was all kinds of stupid, but my apartment wasn’t that far from the bar I said we should go to, and we thought we were free to get as drunk as we liked.” Dean laughs again, remembering Sam stumbling along the street beside him on the walk home that night, his gangly limbs tripping over themselves because he’s an uncoordinated giant. “What I didn’t factor into the equation was the 24-hour tattoo parlour we’d pass on the way home. You know how it is Cas, at the time it all seems like a marvellous idea.”

Castiel is laughing, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them with the tips of his fingers pressed against his mouth. “Wait a minute,”  he says suddenly, drawing his fingers away and smiling more, “so Sam has one too?”

“Yep.” Dean replies, smiling at Cas’s shocked expression. “Same one, same place. I believe we called it the ‘bond of brotherhood’ at the time. But then again, we were drunk off our asses.”

“Why that design?” Castiel asks, his head tilting a little in curiosity.

Dean shrugs, scrunching up his nose to try and place himself back in that night. “Honestly can’t remember. If I had to guess, I’d say we closed our eyes and picked one at random from the shop window.”

They both laugh – Dean especially because it’s probably what they did do, let’s face it – but he thinks it could have been worse really. Aside from the odd remark he gets about being a devil worshipper with a pentagram tattoo, he likes the cool star, and the flames it’s surrounded by. Plus the fact he’s 'bonded' to Sammy, obviously.

“Well, I think you made an excellent choice. One that gives you a great story, and reminds you of a happy time.” Castiel says in summary, and Dean just grins at him, rolling his eyes. “I wish I could get one.”

Dean frowns. “Why can’t you?”

“Crow- My company doesn’t allow it.” Castiel replies, sighing. “We’re not supposed to change our physical appearance in any way without consulting them, as it could affect profit.”

That kind of makes Dean’s stomach turn. Imagine not letting people do whatever the hell they wanted to their own bodies? That’s all kinds of messed up. He can’t say as much, obviously, because this is the place Castiel works for, the place he’s going to be paying a great deal of money to soon – though he can’t help but think he wouldn’t mind one bit if Castiel had a few tattoos here and there.

He realises after a few moments that he’s staring at Castiel, yet again, and building up more of that thick, sticky tension that’s beginning to cloud his mind. He tears his eyes away, smoothing down his t-shirt, and deciding to just continue getting ready for bed.

He stands up, turning back to his bag and placing it on the floor by his feet. When he looks up, he just about catches Cas smiling as he takes in the ‘Motorhead’ logo on his t-shirt.

“What? You got a problem with Motorhead?” Dean asks, making sure to keep his tone light, playful.

“No, not at all.” He pauses. “…Weren’t they at their peak of popularity in the early eighties?” Castiel asks, and Dean can barely tell, but from the slight tilt of his mouth, and the glimmer in his eye, he's pretty sure Cas is teasing him.

He pretends to be appalled, just to play along. “Motorhead are _timeless,_ man. They’re classic.”

Castiel huffs a laugh and looks down at his fingers, his long eyelashes sending spidery shadows dancing across his cheeks in the low lighting.

“My mistake.” He mutters, his smile showing through his words. Dean can’t help smiling too.

He dithers again, chewing his lip as he contemplates his next move. He almost wishes he could ask what Cas has got on under the covers, as he’s never been much of a pyjama pants man himself - though he did bring some just in case - but of course that would be all sorts of weird, so inevitably he just sighs and shucks off his jeans.

After another mini internal battle, he decides to just clamber in as he is, in his boxers and tee, and hopefully Cas won’t be abhorred by it. He places his bag back on the floor and slides into the bed, careful not to let his bare limbs brush Castiel in any way, for fear of awkward apologising and fidgeting.

“Cas?” Dean can’t resist asking once they’re both settled and in darkness. Castiel doesn’t answer but shifts slightly towards Dean, so that he can tell the Angel is listening. All he can feel on his left side is the heat of Castiel’s body, so close it’s physically distressing not to be able to touch. “What you said, about your Mom naming you… was that true? I mean, we didn’t talk about that or anything on the plane…”

Castiel is silent for a good minute, and Dean chastises himself for thirty seconds of it, thinking that he’d crossed the line, asked something too personal.

“Yes, that was true. My Mother died a few days after giving birth to me. Naming me was practically the last thing she ever did.” Castiel says out of nowhere, his voice splitting the silence. Dean breathes very quietly for fear he will say the wrong thing, and Castiel will stop talking. “I’ve never been that truthful with anyone before. It surprised me too when your father said that and those words came out of my mouth.”

Dean revels in the words, letting them swirl around him, seep into his skin. "So your Dad raised you too? Like mine?"

He's pushing it, he knows, and he's not even sure why he's so interested. Castiel has every right to brush him off right now, tell him it's against the rules to ask something that intimate, because it would be true. "He did... for a while." Castiel whispers hesitantly, and Dean freezes, thinking he's never strained to hear something so badly in his life. "I don't think he was cut out for fatherhood really. He was very... absent. He gave me up for adoption when I was thirteen."

It's so distressing that Dean almost doesn't know how to respond. He'd never let himself think about any background his Escort might have, he had too much to think about already. Poor Cas, as lonely as Dean himself when he was a teenager. Sure, John Winchester had been a terrible father, probably every bit as bad as Cas's, but he'd never even considered the idea of giving Dean or Sam away.

Instead of reassuring him, Dean says the only thing he can think of, in the hope that Castiel might then see that he understands. That maybe he's the only one who ever could understand. “My Mom died too.”

Castiel doesn’t enquire immediately, and Dean thinks about not elaborating, because he never wants to talk about this. Not ever; he’s not even sure why he admitted this much, but Castiel has such a calming effect on him, and he wants him to know. It's only fair, after he divulged something that was surely against the rules.

“What happened?” Castiel asks eventually, and Dean knows he has to tell him. Not only because he just wants to get it out, to pour all of the stuff he’s been burying for so long onto someone else, but also because this is Cas's job - how can the poor guy be expected to pretend he’s a part of this family when he hasn’t even seen its biggest scar?

“I was five. Sammy was just a baby; he doesn’t remember it at all.” Dean stops for a moment, staring up as he lies on his back, seeing flickering shapes in the darkness above him. He can feel Castiel beside him, watching, and it’s reassuring somehow. “My mom went in to check on Sam late at night, and I don’t know the specifics – faulty wiring or something I think – but there was a fire. I think she must’ve been trying to get Sam out, but she got trapped. My Dad ran up as soon as he heard her screaming, saw her trapped behind the flames and grabbed Sammy – that’s about when I woke up, scared out of my wits, and I ran into the room. It was- I still remember it, Cas.”

Dean starts a little when he feels a hand coming to rest on his left shoulder, but he doesn’t try to move it away. It’s comforting actually, and he blinks away tears, tasting the smoke in the back of his throat so he wants to cough, run far away, but he ploughs on, anchored by the hand on his arm.

“She was- she was over by the window, the beams had caught fire and fallen across the corner, like bars sealing her there. She was screaming, but to Dad- saying ‘get the boys out! Get them out, John!’. So my Dad hands me Sammy, tells me to take him outside as fast as I can, and I do, I just bolt, not _thinking,_ not realising that it’s the last time I’ll ever see my Mom again.”

He hears Cas’s sharp intake of breath, through his teeth, like he’s gritting them against the horror of the story. Dean screws his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of his Mother’s terrified eyes behind swirling flames.

“That was incredibly brave, what you did. Saving your brother like that.” Castiel says, and Dean feels his grip tighten a little on his bicep.

Dean shakes his head a little, because no it wasn’t, it was just survival skills. He’s nothing special, and he was too young, too stupid, too naïve to save loving, sweet Mary.

“The whole nursery went up in flames; took a huge chunk of Dad’s room with it, and some of the hall. We had to redo it all. That’s why it all looks so idiotic and ‘Minority Report’ down that end; my Dad’s decorating skills for you.”

“Dean, I’m so sorry. What’s happened to you… it’s tragic. She would have been proud of who you’ve become today, I’m sure of it.” Castiel says, and Dean winces. Cas means well, of course he does, he’s being paid to, but in the back of Dean’s mind he’s thinking – how on earth would you know?

Castiel never knew Mary Winchester, and Dean only knew her a bit. How is he supposed to glean from that whether she would have liked the guy her eldest son turned out to be? Who knows, maybe she’d be like Dad, endlessly disappointed in him.

Dean sighs. “Thanks, Cas.” The silence stretches between them. “We should go to sleep.”

He rolls over onto his side, away from Cas, and feels the Angel’s hand slip off of his arm. It leaves a cold spot where it rested for a moment, and Dean frowns.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Castiel wakes up, Dean is still sleeping peacefully beside him. He spends several moments weighing the pros and cons of vacating the bed – the pros being that Dean will sleep on undisturbed, leaving Castiel an opportunity to head downstairs to socialise and win over his family, and the cons being that he won’t get to stare at Dean’s beautiful, unconscious form, his face un-creased by the stresses the day brings, his eyelids flickering as he dreams.

Now, Castiel may be slightly on the socially awkward side when he’s not being superficially charming, but even he knows that staring at someone while they sleep is not acceptable. He sighs, stealing one last lingering look for the road, and starts the slow process of easing himself out from under the covers, careful not to jostle Dean in any way.

It’s hardly surprising that Castiel is having a little trouble keeping his worrying and ever-developing crush on Dean under wraps this morning – Dean himself didn’t exactly help the situation by choosing to give a sinfully slow strip tease right in front of him last night, pulling off his shirt inch-by-inch as though he were purposefully intent on giving Castiel a slow reveal of his flawless, deliciously tanned, sculpted abs.

_And that tattoo…_

Castiel shudders at the memory, thinking of how he’d had to force himself to look away for fear he’d blush crimson, or drool, or worse, and he thanks the Heavens that Dean is sleeping right now so he won’t bear witness to Castiel’s unprofessionalism. He gets dressed silently, stealing glances at the man still lying soundly under the covers of his childhood bed, his Motorhead t-shirt riding up a little around his waist, exposing a strip of the sun-kissed skin beneath.

He looks away again, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He really needs to get a hold of himself. He’s sort of strangely glad in a way that Dean had been opposed to the idea of any sexual activities, as he thinks if he did have to sleep with Dean Winchester, he might lose his mind.

The mere thought of Dean’s strong, solid, naked body sliding against his own, the man’s hot breath against the sensitive skin of his throat has him trembling to the point where he drops the sock he is trying to put on, and he forces himself to think of other things. Who is he kidding? Of course, sex with Dean would probably render him useless as an escort; he’d undoubtedly be reduced to a pile of submissive goo within seconds of getting his pants off, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ it.

Rather, he thinks, an expression of tortured yearning on his face as he looks over at Dean again, he wants it a great deal.  

“And that is all the more reason you shouldn’t have it.” Castiel mutters to himself very quietly as he slips his foot into the sock at last, and strides towards the bedroom door. He’s here to do a job, Castiel thinks, not to behave like a teenage girl over one of his clients.

Dean Winchester needs him, not sexually, but emotionally - that much is clear after their deep conversation last night. Castiel shakes off the memory, not allowing himself to think about all the rules he has surely broken in revealing even that much about himself to Dean. The trouble was, he feels far too comfortable around Dean, and it's a little difficult no to share everything with him. He's secretly glad he did though, as it had led to Dean's own confession, and now Castiel understands why Dean and his family are so broken. They are still grieving over the tragic loss of a wife and a mother.

He had made sure to listen carefully, offer comfort, be a strong presence beside Dean as he revealed everything. Castiel knows how to help people, to guide them through whatever pain they are experiencing.

That, and only that, despite whatever forbidden yearnings start to form in the back of his mind, is how Castiel can help him.

* * *

 

Dean awakens to an empty room and the sound of chatter from downstairs. He tries not to let himself feel disappointed when he rolls over and finds the space next to him unoccupied by his Angel, but he can’t help feeling a little hurt by it. Castiel is here for him after all.

He swings his legs out of bed and grabs his bag off the floor, his arm joints popping in protest after what feels like a long sleep. He wonders vaguely what the time is, and digs around in his bag for a pair of pyjama pants – the ones he couldn’t be bothered to find last night – pulling them on before heading downstairs.

He starts to slow as he nears the kitchen because he immediately hears two voices that send alarm bells ringing: Cas and John. In the same room. Without him.

Oh, this oughta be good, he thinks, grimacing, and wanders into the kitchen, a fake smile on his face.

“Oh, rise and shine!” Sam cries as soon as he walks in the door. He’s laughing, bright-eyed and well-rested, clutching a mug of what Dean suspects is coffee.  If so, Dean is already wondering where his cup is.

Like he’s heard, Sam immediately turns to the coffee machine propped on the counter behind him, tossing an eye roll at Dean as he goes. Brotherly telepathy – it’s pretty damn cool sometimes.

“ _Afternoon_ , Dean.” A new voice calls, a Southern drawl dragging the syllables across a sarcastic tone, and Dean whips around to face it. Sitting at the kitchen table - the one he’s just walked past - is a woman; her rich dark skin and black, thickly curled hair are enough to get Dean smiling, but the wry grin on her mouth confirms her identity.

“Missouri!” Dean greets, his arms stretching out as he goes to hug her. She doesn’t move from the chair, which doesn’t surprise Dean in the slightest, but she does return the hug, cupping his face in her hands and holding him in place before he can move away.

Missouri lives a few blocks away, making her living as the town Psychic – though of course Dean’s a little sceptical. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in the supernatural, but to be honest he’s never given it much thought. Who’s he to say the truth isn’t out there?

When Mary died, John became a little erratic. He sought out Missouri in the blind hope that she’d be able to shed some light on his wife’s sudden, unexpected death. Dean remembers it well; Missouri used to come round often, sit with his father over endless cups of tea while he grieved, helping him through the pain, even looking after Dean and Sam on occasion. She’s been a true friend to the family.

“Boy, it’s about time you came back here. Your daddy was gettin’ real worried bout you.” Missouri says, giving his face a pat. Dean pulls away gently, his smile becoming a little more strained.

“Aw, Missouri you know I’d never abandon you for too long.” He replies as she shakes her head at him, and he straightens up, intending to turn and give Sam a shared ‘kill me’ look. It’s not that they don’t love Missouri, but she’s one of those fierce, opinionated women, who think they always have the superior knowledge of the situation in hand.

John is at the table too, sort of, his chair a fair distance away from the table itself, as though he’s separate from everyone else. He looks tired, probably on account of having slept upright on the sofa all night, but at least there are no beer bottles or cans in sight, and that’s a start. Dean nods at him in greeting and turns to find out how far Sam has gotten with the coffee-making.

In the process he spots Cas, leaning against the counter with Jess, both of them smiling and talking in hushed voices, like they’re kids sharing secrets. For a moment Dean is a little irritated – he feels like a toddler himself, annoyed at Jess for stealing his friend away – but then Cas looks up, catching his eye and he gives Dean a smile that would melt anyone’s heart. Really, it’s like he’s looking at the next Messiah or something. Dean grins back and gives him a pathetic little wave he almost hates himself for.

“It’s not really the afternoon is it?” Dean asks the general room, suddenly a little worried. He’s acutely aware that he’s the only one in pyjamas.

“It’s just gone noon, Dean.” Sam laughs, handing him a steaming mug of coffee not a moment too soon. “I was about to send Cas up to get you; it starts in an hour. You’d better go get dressed, people will be arriving soon.”

“Past _noon?_ ” Dean asks, incredulous. Back home, he rarely gets more than four hours sleep, what with the long hours he works most days.

“I thought you deserved a lie-in.” Castiel explains, and Dean raises an eyebrow. _Well, what a generous boyfriend he has._

Generous and ridiculously hot for someone who woke up a few hours ago. That thick black hair looks like it’s had fingers running through it all night long. Ah, Dean thinks, that’s probably not an accident on Castiel’s part.

Oh what the hell, he can’t resist. Fake-flirting is totally allowed at all points in the day. “Is that right, baby?”

Castiel quirks a smile, sensing the change in Dean’s voice. He sees something flash in the Angel's eyes and his stomach flips over. The game is on, it would seem. “Yes. You’ve been working _so_ hard recently.”

Before he knows it, Castiel is walking over to him, crossing the creamily tiled kitchen floor in three easy strides until he’s standing in front of Dean, threading his arms around Dean’s waist and gazing upwards, batting the lashes around his stupidly blue eyes.

Dean gulps, completely dumbstruck by the feel of being locked in Castiel’s embrace, but the look Cas is giving him, the one that says ‘ _remember what we’re here to do’_ prompts him to react, and he does, slipping his own arms around Castiel’s shoulders and smiling down at him.

“Aw, well aren’t you all kinds of adorable.” Dean says, half-sarcastically, and Castiel smiles bashfully, shrugging.

Dean’s vaguely aware of Jess letting out a little ‘aw’ at some point, but to be honest he’s got bigger problems to deal with – like the fact he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to break his staring match with Castiel, or more importantly, let him go.

He tries to ignore the little things that could lead to disaster – like the fact that Castiel is a touch shorter than him, and that consequently he fits perfectly against Dean’s body. If he were so inclined, Dean could lift his head up and rest his chin on the top of Cas’s head.

He sighs, and forces himself to loosen his grip on the Angel, suddenly very aware that absolutely everyone else in the room is staring at them, including John, whose eyes are slightly narrowed as he takes in the display of affection.

Dean opens his mouth, ready to distract everyone with some witty, probably inappropriate comment, but at that moment, the front door opens. They hear Bobby before they see him, yelling ‘it’s only me! Lower your weapons’ and cursing the cold weather.

Dean’s brow furrows and for some reason it’s Cas he looks to, in the hopes that his shiny new Angel can shed some light on his current confusion.

“The rehearsal dinner is in an hour, Dean. People are starting to arrive.” Sam explains, and Dean’s eyes grow round and wide.

Bobby shuffles into the room, giving John a greeting nod just as Dean says, “Rehearsal _dinner?_ It’s the middle of the day!”

Sam rolls his eyes and nods to Bobby, smiling as he sees Missouri beckoning the old hunter over for a hug. Bobby looks more than uncomfortable with it, but complies. Dean watches them, and notices for the first time that Bobby is dressed particularly smartly, even for him, in a shirt and jacket, even a tie. Everyone else is dressed in their finery as well, Dean thinks as he glances around, Missouri’s draped in her thick hoodoo beads and brightly patterned scarves, Cas is even wearing a shirt and dress pants, though that’s hardly much different to what he arrived in, minus the trenchcoat.

And here he is in his pyjamas at noon, Dean thinks, blushing a little now.

“Yeah, but the bachelor party is this evening so we couldn’t do it then.” Sam explains. “We were gonna have the dinner tonight and the party tomorrow if you remember, but you said something about-”

“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t book the place for your party tomorrow night.” Dean interrupts, grumbling slightly. He’s not pleased that he’s suddenly going to have to face his entire family in an _hour -_ that leaves him very little time to prepare. He’d wanted to steel himself, maybe rehearse a few times with Cas exactly what they’d say to everyone. Looks like there’s no time for that now.

He turns to where Missouri has hold of Bobby’s hand, gripping it tightly in both of her own like an iron vice. “You listen to me Bobby Singer, I can see right into that funny little head!”

Bobby shifts uncomfortably, trying to prise his hand away, but she holds firm. “Missouri, it’s great to see you really, but-”

“Nuh-uh, you are not getting outta here without a reading Bobby! You don’t wanna _know_ how mixed up your aura’s lookin’!” She cries, and Dean finds himself smiling widely.

“Right,” Dean interrupts loudly, mostly out of sympathy for Bobby, who looks up at him, relieved, “I guess I’d better go get ready then.”

Bobby uses the distraction to pull himself free, shuffling around the table and over towards Sam as quickly as he can without appearing rude. Missouri calls after him that she’ll find him later, and Bobby gives Dean a look that had been mirrored on his own face not long ago – the ‘kill me’ look.

Dean chuckles and starts to walk towards the stairs, choosing not to catch John’s eye as he sidles past. He hasn’t even spoken to his father this morning – afternoon, whatever – yet besides nodding at him in greeting. He just doesn’t feel like getting into a fight right now, especially when he can still feel the after effects of Castiel’s warm arms wrapped around his middle.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says suddenly from somewhere behind Dean, “go with him would you? Someone needs to make sure he knows how to dress himself.”

Dean swivels on his heel to shoot Sam a dirty look, and watches helplessly as Cas smiles and obeys Sam’s orders,  willingly meandering over to him like he’d rather be doing nothing else in the world.

“You’re damn good at this, Cas.” Dean chuckles to him once they’re climbing the stairs, out of earshot. Castiel smiles at him, a strange, indecipherable look flashing across his face, but he doesn’t reply.

* * *

 

“So wait, this one?” Dean asks, holding up a carmine-coloured tie for Cas’s inspection. Castiel tilts his head, squinting at the colour; he’s sitting on the end of the bed, leaned back casually on his hands as Dean chooses the perfect rehearsal-dinner outfit. It’s adorable really, how concerned he is about getting this exactly right for his brother. “Or this one?”

The other tie Dean holds aloft is a maize-yellow number, with a white cross-hatch pattern. Castiel wrinkles his nose before he realises what he’s doing, which is so unlike him. Dean laughs though, so it’s sort of worth losing control of his facial expressions.

“So this one then?” Dean asks, still chuckling as he loops the red tie around his neck, tossing the bile-coloured one onto the floor next to his bag. Castiel nods, smiling sheepishly. After a moment’s hesitation, he rises from his seat, stepping towards Dean to help him tie the appropriate Windsor knot.

Dean regards him curiously, but doesn’t protest, even though he must be thinking it’s a strange thing to do given there’s nobody here to pretend for.

“Are you nervous about the rehearsal?” Castiel asks as he threads the material between his fingers, looping the tie round on itself in an expert flick.

Dean looks away at that, grimacing a bit. “A little.” He admits, thinking of the reactions of his Mother’s family when they realise who he truly is. “It’ll be better once this stupid dinner is outta the way, then we have the bachelor party and I know for a fact that’s gonna be fun.”

Castiel nods, tightening the knot he’s just created, and smiles up at Dean. “I’m sure it will be. I didn’t know you planned events.”

Dean nods, stepping away from Cas to find his suit jacket now that the tie debacle is over with. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to get my own business going for a while now, but it’s hard to get yourself out there, you know?”

Castiel nods in sympathy, marvelling at Dean’s dedication to three separate time-consuming endeavours.

“Don’t mention it to my Dad if you wanna get anywhere with him though; he doesn’t acknowledge event-planning as anything more than a daydream of mine.”

Castiel frowns at this information but doesn’t respond, choosing to let himself be distracted by the sight of Dean’s broad shoulders slipping into a rich, dark jacket. He looks exceptionally good in a suit, Castiel muses.

“Try not to be concerned about your family’s reaction.” Castiel says as Dean turns back to face him, fiddling with his shirt collar. “I will be there the whole time – if you flounder or get into any trouble, I will come to your aid.”

Dean chuckles at that, coming over to stand in front of Cas. “You talk like you’re straight out of a black and white movie, y’know that?”

Castiel feels like he should probably be offended, but the idea of his old-fashioned formality seems to make Dean happy, so he just smiles, and rolls his eyes.

“So?” Dean asks, stepping backwards a pace or two and twirling on the spot. He gestures down at the suit he’s wearing, a smirk playing on his lips. “Whaddya think? Could I legitimately pass as your boyfriend?”

Castiel knows better than to speak without thinking during a job, but he's given up trying to identify the many strange effects Dean has on him. In this case, it's entirely without thinking that he finds himself immediately saying ‘yes’ to Dean’s question despite the fact he isn’t even _looking_ at the smartly dressed man.

Dean pauses for a second, blinking in confusion at Cas’s immediate response; he hadn’t even hesitated. It takes Castiel a moment or two to realise what he just said, and he swallows in embarrassment, his eyes flitting up to Dean’s in alarm.

“I mean, yes, you look very handsome. That suit is extremely becoming, your family and friends will have no trouble adjusting to the idea of us as an item.” Castiel corrects quickly, and he strides towards the door, ignoring Dean’s curious expression as he goes. “We should head downstairs now.”

Dean sighs, but walks over to the door, letting Castiel usher him through it without complaint.

Castiel takes a moment before he follows, willing the blush in his cheeks to cool, and scolding himself for allowing his affection for Dean to slip out in such an obvious way.

* * *

 

By the time Dean gets downstairs, pretty much everyone has arrived and is seated at the large table that someone has squashed into the dining room to compensate for the numbers.

The wedding itself, Dean knows, is going to be held in the garden, as Jess’s suspiciously inexpensive wedding dream is for a ‘cute little backyard ceremony’. Of course, everyone except the bride-to-be is getting a little worried by this point, because despite the fact Sam and Jess have tactfully chosen mid-April for their Spring wedding, the Kansas weather is being its usual unpredictable self: namely, 10 degrees Celsius with a wind strong enough to blow the neighbour’s cat into a nearby tree.

Right now, that same wind is sending a thick, spattering rainfall against the panes of glass in the dining room windows, though nobody mentions it, and Jess seems completely nonplussed, apparently totally convinced that the sun will come out to shine upon her bridal beauty on Saturday no matter what.

So, in other words, they would be having the rehearsal dinner outside, but nobody really fancies getting their second finest outfits wet while freezing to death just in order to ‘rehearse’ the eating part of the wedding.

Dean enters the room with Cas close behind him, and the first thing he sees is John at the head of the long table - which is clothed in pristine white material, and laid with the kind of  luxurious fine crockery Dean feels broke just standing near - staring daggers at the bald, dark-eyed man sitting at the opposite end.

Bobby is there too - next to John and drinking something out of a flask - and so is Missouri, on the other side of the table next to Adam, her newest victim, to whom she seems to be recounting something that is undoubtedly so scarily accurate about his future that all the blood is draining from his face. Kate, Adam’s mother, is next to him, and Dean tries to catch her eye briefly because he remembers her, and thinks she might have been cool, but she is distracted, eyes fixed on John, concerned. She’s not stupid then, Dean thinks.

“Dean! Cas! Come say hello to everyone, Samuel and Deanna just arrived.” Sam’s sounding cheery enough, but Dean knows better. Sure enough, when he looks up at his little brother, standing behind Adam’s chair, directly between Samuel and John in his shirt and sky-blue tie, his face is strained into a tight smile, eyes pleading.

Relations between Mary's parents and John have always been a little tense as far as Dean can remember - though it’s a push to dredge up the memories from when he was an infant - but after Mary died, things have only gotten progressively worse. Samuel doesn’t usually directly admit it, but he blames John entirely for his daughter’s untimely end. Deanna is a meek, submissive counterpart to her husband’s accusatory stance on the situation – Dean hates that he is named after her for this reason, why can’t the damn woman stand up for herself? And why in the hell did Mary decide it would be a grand idea to name her sons after _both_ her parents?

The wedding is going to be… tense to say the least. But Sam was insistent that their grandparents be in attendance, and hey, Dean can understand. It’s not like they have an abundance of close family.

“Samuel, Deanna, great to see you!” Dean cries, breaking the intense staring match going on between the two heads of the table. Sam breathes a sigh of relief and slinks away towards the kitchen, which is presumably where Jess is hidden. Dean crosses over to his grandparents, Cas following close behind like the obedient little Angel he is, and Samuel gives him a reluctant smile. He sticks out a hand, but doesn’t get up from his chair.

Oh yeah, and Samuel doesn’t like Dean either. He’s not entirely sure what that’s about, but he thinks it’s probably the usual stuff – the loveable-renegade attitude, the shitty job, the womanising etc. Well, that’s what Cas is here for, right? To talk him up.

When he’s finished shaking hands with Samuel and giving Deanna a perfunctory kiss on her powdery cheek, strands of her blonde bob tickling his mouth, he straightens, his mouth filling with saliva as he savours the moment that’s about to take place.

He thinks he sees Bobby’s smirk of anticipation too as he threads an arm around his fake-boyfriend’s silkily suited waist, pulling him forwards a little so that they’re side by side.

“I’d like you guys to meet someone.” Dean says brightly, his face split into a wide grin. Oh, God, their faces are already priceless. “This is Castiel, my boyfriend.”

He surprises himself at the ease with which he’s able to spit the words out, but finds it no trouble at all in the end. Samuel has already come in here, glaring at his father, blaming the Winchesters for all that he’s lost with his silent, judgemental stare. Dean is more than happy to wipe any and all feelings of superiority the guy might feel over him clean off by presenting them with a flawless, committed, utterly perfect boyfriend.

“What in the world…” Samuel says, trailing off, mind probably filled with images of Lisa and the countless other faceless girls Dean has brought home with him year after year. Castiel’s trademark smile quivers almost imperceptibly. Dean notices, though. “Well, I gotta say Dean. This is a surprise.”

Dean thinks he hears John chuckle from the other end of the table, but he doesn’t look up. Well, at least Samuel and John are agreeing on something?

Deanna looks like someone just slapped her round the face with a wet fish, her mouth hanging open and her cheeks flushed as she ogles Castiel. She and her husband both stare for a moment, as if looking for long enough will make Cas reveal himself as the obscene sex doll that, in their eyes, is the only thing Dean is capable of getting.

“H-how…” Deanna starts to ask, and it’s not only Dean who’s surprised at her sudden ability to voice any kind of opinion on anything. Ever.

Samuel stares at his wife like she’s malfunctioned, and opens his mouth to finish her sentence, but Castiel gets there first and that’s why Dean is the luckiest goddamn guy in the world. He means in terms of getting Castiel’s name to pop up on that website of course. Nothing more.

“How did we meet?” Castiel laughs, and looks at Dean bashfully as though they get asked this question all the time and _gosh Dean honey isn’t it embarrassing?_ “Well, Deanna, it’s actually a lovely story if you’re quite sure you want to listen.”

Deanna stares, wide-eyed, at the Angel speaking, as though he actually were talking in Enochian or some other foreign language. She seems to have lost her voice again, much to Dean’s disappointment, and he swallows down the resentment he feels that he was named after someone so spineless.

“I’d love to hear it!” Adam suddenly says, his voice like the first bell on Christmas morning, making them all look up in surprise. “Sit down Castiel, Dean, come tell us. You wanna hear too, right mom?”

Kate glances at Adam, her face suddenly nervous now that she’s been dragged into the conversation. Of all things, she shoots a look at John, as though checking with him that it’s okay, that she’s allowed to want to know about Dean’s pretend love-life.

Dean smiles at the kid, remembering why he used to be so fond of him. He reminds Dean of Sam in many ways, a younger Sam, always aiming to help people, to be kind. He gives Cas a fond look that he hopes says something along the lines of _if we must then, sweetheart,_ and pulls out a chair for his Angel in shining armour.

Once they’re both seated side by side, Samuel and John looking like they’re about to grind their teeth down to unusable stubs, Castiel leans a little way into Dean’s space. “Where should we begin?”

Dean can’t help how his eyes flick down to Castiel’s lips for a fraction of a second too long, the guy’s all up in his personal space, and it’s extremely difficult to make a coherent thought when he’s that close, never mind keep his libido in check. “Why don’t we, uh, start with the car?”

Castiel ducks his head, blushing like a fucking _pro,_ and Jesus, they only came up with this haphazard, bordering-on-unlikely story yesterday but he’s already acting as though it’s his favourite memory, like it gives him butterflies, and _shit are those goosebumps on his wrists?_

“Sam, Jess, get in here! Dean and Cas are about to tell us how they hooked up!” Adam suddenly yells, loud enough that it will travel into the kitchen, and this time it’s _Dean_ that’s blushing because come on! That’s _Sam_! Surely he doesn’t need to be filled in on the schmaltzy stuff.

As if on cue, Sam practically runs into the room, dragging a laughing Jess behind him by her expensively ringed hand, and stops behind Adam’s chair again, practically bouncing in his chair in his eagerness to hear the tale. Dean wants to bury his head in his hands. Or, more preferably, Cas’s hair, or neck, or chest, or-

He stops himself _right_ there.

“Everybody ready for the story?” Dean asks in a voice purposefully meant to sound like a pre-school teacher. For Sam’s benefit of course. Sam just gives him a fond bitchface and gestures at him to get on with it.

“So, Cas. The car?” Adam prompts, a grin lighting his face.

“Yes. Well, several months ago, in the depths of winter, I found myself in a predicament.” Castiel begins, and Dean has to admit, story-time just got a whole lot more interesting with Cas’s black-treacle voice coating every word. “There was a blizzard, and my car decided to give up on life just as I was heading to work.”

“And what, may I ask, is it that you do, Castiel?” John asks out of nowhere in a mocking voice, interrupting the story and putting everyone instantly on edge. Castiel is relaxed though, calm as he processes John’s question in his mind for a moment, and it helps Dean, just to be able to feel the other man’s slack shoulders pressed against his.

“I sell ad time for AM radio.” Castiel replies breezily, remembering Dean’s made up job for him and chuckling as though he knows it’s not the best job in the world, but he doesn’t care. Initially Dean had said Cas should say he’s a tax accountant or something equally dire, just because nobody would dare ask anything further about that, and the whole trenchcoat/suit combo made him look like a regular nine-to-five guy. But on the other hand, they wanted Cas to come across as believably likeable, and while Dean can readily admit that he doesn’t want to be BFF’s with the guys that work in advertising, it would at least account for why Castiel was so charming and _pretty._

“Anyway,” Dean says, giving his dad a pointed look and trying to move the story along, “so I’m coming down the M-59 on my way to the garage, and I spot this poor sod leaning over his smoking hood in a friggin’ blizzard, and he’s got this look of confusion on his face – like the damn engine’s gonna come alive and eat him or something.”

Dean laughs at the image they thought up together on the plane, and Adam joins in, eyes sparkling. When Dean looks up Sam is grinning, obviously amused, Jess clinging to him, her head tilted and eyes soft like she’s never heard something so adorable. Castiel chuckles beside him, and buries his face in his hands, hiding his pretend-embarrassment well.

He groans. “Oh, it was terrible. I don’t know the first thing about cars. If Dean hadn’t been there I don’t know what I would have done.” He lifts his face up, smiling unabashedly at Dean.

_If we were an actual couple, I’d totally kiss that look off his face right now._

“I pull over, get out to help like the fuckin’ hero I am – I’m telling you right now, _blizzard_ conditions – and Cas is basically offering to marry me on the spot he’s so damn grateful.” Dean wonders for a split second whether mentioning marriage is a bit of a no-go, considering he and Cas haven’t worked their imminent proposal plans into their intricate backstory, and besides, this is Sam’s wedding, and John’s already hell-bent on thinking Dean’s just out to ruin it.

But Castiel just laughs and hums in agreement, even nodding a little, and looking sheepish as though it’s bad, but true. “He patched up the car and told me to bring it in to his work, he even said he’d work on it himself, half-price.”

Sam shoots Dean a surprised look at that, eyebrows raised, still grinning. Dean bats his accusatory stare out of the air with one hand and leans into Cas a little. For good measure, he threads his hand through the Angel’s, resting their intertwined fingers on the beautifully decorated table. “Shut up, he was cute okay? Of course I was gonna offer him a deal.”

Sam barks a laugh, suddenly looking delighted, and Dean marvels at it. Is this really what it takes to make his little brother truly happy? Suddenly, a feeling of guilt pools in Dean’s stomach, because yes Sam is happy now that Dean’s happy. But Dean’s happiness is all pretend, and when Cas goes back to his own life, what then?

“What do you mean _was_ cute?” Castiel suddenly asks, looking at Dean and pouting around a smirk. Dean’s heart doubles in speed and he’s pretty sure his pupils just blew wide open, because Cas is flirting, yes, but how is he supposed to counter this without…

Oh, what the fuck. He’s paying through the nose for this.

Dean grins, the kind of wide, teeth-baring grin he saves for a certain type of guy he’s trying to pick up. The one at the bar, alone, legs crossed and staring down everyone who dares approach. It’s his fool-proof grin, the one that’s guaranteed a positive reaction no matter how high the guy’s defences are. Castiel sucks in a breath when he sees; Dean knows he heard it.

“You know you’re still adorable.” He answers, and it’s while Castiel is distracted, caught off guard by Dean’s totally outside-the-rules flirting tactics that he leans forward and captures those irresistibly soft lips in a kiss. Castiel’s chapped, velvety smooth mouth feels like the edge of a feather against his. He doesn’t allow himself to linger, though he knows he stays pressed there for too long for it to be considered entirely chaste. He moves fractionally against the soft lips, which mould themselves to his without the Angel even trying, and Dean tries not to let himself taste, but he has to, he doesn’t know if he’ll get the chance again, so his tongue darts out very briefly, sweeping a damp line across Castiel’s plump bottom lip; he tastes like Sunday morning.

It’s only right as he starts to eventually drag himself away that Dean feels Castiel finally start to respond. He doesn’t know what to make of that, the feel of Castiel’s lips moving infinitesimally as Dean begins to move backwards, almost like they’re begging him to stay. Maybe Castiel had been in a state of shock up until that point, too caught-off-guard by Dean’s surprise attack to return the kiss until right at the end, though that seemed too unprofessional for Castiel.

Dean doesn’t allow himself to think about the fact he _knows_ he managed to affect Castiel by grinning at him in his most flirtatious manner, because if he does think about it he’ll drive himself to insanity with thoughts that he might, just maybe, be able to _get_ this guy, and that’s ludicrous. Castiel is a fucking _escort._ He’s paid to make men believe what they want to believe. Nothing more. Dean won’t let himself dwell.

“God, you guys are going to put us to shame!” Jess cries, making Castiel snap his head up, and Dean realises for the first time the Angel has been staring at Dean, eyes wide and heavy with something ever since they broke the kiss. Now Jess has gone and distracted Cas before Dean can figure out what that ‘something’ is. Fuck. “Remember _we’re_ supposed to be the sickeningly cute couple okay guys?”

Dean chuckles, because Jess said it with a smile; she’s only joking, and anyway, in his eyes there’s no one cuter than that girl and his little bro. Jess winks at Dean like she heard his every thought and disappears back in the direction of the kitchen, from which an extremely delicious smell is currently wafting. Sam follows her, shrugging an apology at Dean, and then giving him a thumbs up, which is confusing, but nice.

“So, is that the end of the story?” Adam asks, his eyes hopeful. Dean casts a quick glance round the table, assessing. They do have more, but he senses from the looks on his father’s, Samuel’s and even Missouri’s faces that their audience is straining their tolerance levels for this soppy bullshit. 

“Later, kid.” Dean replies, and Adam nods reluctantly, leaning back in his chair.

Dean looks to Cas beside him, catching a glimpse of something on the Angel’s face as the guy stares at him in that way Dean suspects is a habit of his, but he doesn’t exactly know what he saw. Castiel slips the mask back on, his smile falling readily into place.

“I’m so glad I met you, Dean.”

Dean allows himself to smile, because he suspects Cas isn’t entirely just playing a part here. “Backatcha.”

He means it with every fibre of his being, right down to their dampened, clasped hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a tad late, I had a bit of late one last night :') thank you all for your lovely comments, I read them on the train back x


	8. Chapter 8

It’s within the next half hour that things start to pick up, guests trickling in every so often, slowly filling the empty places around the long, cramped table. There are people Dean recognises, Gwen, Mark and Christian being the prominent ones, and Dean whispers to Castiel that they are his cousins, the niece and nephews of Samuel and Deanna. God knows why Sam invited them, he thinks, because they're all awful; he probably just needed to fill out the groom’s side of the seating plan.

They say hello to Dean and John frostily, every bit as prejudiced against the older Winchester men as their Aunt and Uncle. Dean doesn’t particularly care, he finds them all way too high and mighty, especially that Christian, who Dean would seriously like to punch at some point. And Mark, with his silent voyeur attitude – it’s creepy as hell.

Jess’s parents and sisters arrive, along with some of her aunts, uncles, grandparents and a heap of both hers and Sam’s friends from Stanford. It makes Dean ridiculously happy to watch his little brother hugging and playfully shoving the guys he’s established such long-term friends with, but it makes him the tiniest bit sad too. He’ll never have anything like that.

He’s shocked out of his reverie by the squeeze of Cas’s hand in his, both of them still clasped together tightly, with apparently no intentions of letting go. He turns to smile at the Angel, hopelessly glad that he’s there, for whatever reason.

Once everyone is seated, including Sam and Jess, the best part begins. Well, the best part in Dean’s eyes anyway: the food. It’s brought out on actual, honest-to-god silver trays with those lift-off lids Dean’s only ever seen in movies. There must be at least a half-dozen waiters suddenly filing out of the kitchen in their penguin-style black and white apron-shirt combos, little bow ties to complete the look.

“Where did you guys even come from?” Dean can’t help but ask one of them as he sets down an enormous, chrome-lidded platter in front of him, and Castiel sputters a laugh that Dean’s pretty sure he didn’t mean to let escape, judging by the way he tries to hide it, gulping down some water from his wine glass.

The waiter just smiles enigmatically, sweeping away on his heel like a damn magician, and Dean wants to call after him, to tell him that he forgot to take the lid off his meal, but after a quick look around the table, everyone’s lids are still covering their dishes, and nobody looks in the least bit surprised.

_Ah, this is one of those times where I keep quiet, and let the guys more experienced in the finer way of life take the lead,_ Dean thinks, and presses his mouth shut.

He casts a quick look at Cas, like he can’t stop doing every five seconds, and the Angel is staring at him, an amused, fond little smile creasing the corners of his eyes. Dean’s about to comment, to defend his lack of know-how about this crazy rich-guy stuff and declare it all pointless, but then the waiters return, their aprons flapping around their legs as they take their positions standing in between the guests.

Everyone stops the quiet chatter, and the waiters are still. For one, panicked moment Dean thinks that he might be required to say grace or something equally weird, but a second passes and a fat, cheerily-faced man strolls out into the dining area, dressed from head to toe in white, a puffy hat resting on his mousey curls.

“Welcome, friends and family of Sam and Jess!” The man declares in a booming voice, loud enough that Dean’s sure the cutlery rattles against the table. What the hell is that accent? It’s like a mix of Italian, French and German – weird. “I am the wedding chef, Valentino, I hope you enjoy the wonders I have created for you to sample today. Bon appetite!”

Valentino the chef (honestly Dean’s never heard such a cliché in his life) takes a dramatic bow, and the waiters reach out in perfect symmetry, lifting the lids off of everyone’s plates with one, perfectly timed flourish. Everyone applauds, which catches Dean by surprise, he’s too busy staring at the steaming plate of mozzarella and garlic stuffed chicken breast in front of him, drizzled in some kind of deliciously alcoholic-looking sauce, resting on a bed of potatoes and grilled vegetables. He has no time for applause.

The waiters begin to file out, and everyone picks up their utensils with an eager clatter, fork prongs clashing against silver knives as people scramble to quell the hunger in their stomachs. Dean’s first bite is something orgasmic, and he moans, long and low, savouring the taste as it spills across his palette. When he opens his eyes, swallowing down the bite, he catches sight of Christian giving him a disgusted look, his fork halfway to his mouth as he berates Dean’s inappropriate display with his eyes.

Dean just grins, cramming another forkful of chicken into his mouth and smiling around it until Christian is forced to look away, shaking his head, apparently abhorred.

The rest of the ‘dinner’ passes pretty quickly after that; there’s an amiable chatter around the table, and enough guests now to dull the practically tangible tension between Samuel and John. Jess eagerly introduces Cas to her sisters – both of whom look so remarkably similar to Jess herself that it’s a little unnerving – sending Castiel up in praises so that Dean doesn’t even have to comment, and this is why he loves that girl. Her sisters, Abby and Lauren, eat him up in the same way Jess seems to, poring over every detail he gives about his and Dean’s relationship, cooing over their brushing hands and lingering stares.

John also seems to be having a good time, which is an unexpected benefit of the rehearsal, because John having a good time means he’s not drowning his sorrows. When Dean looks over, he’s hunched over the corner of the table with Kate Milligan, Adam’s mom, chuckling and talking with her about something Dean can’t hear.

As he watches his father’s eyes crinkle, Dean wonders if he’s witnessing his Dad flirting, and thinks that if he is, it could be a very good thing. Dean doesn’t know a lot about Kate, mostly hearing about her through Adam when he pops by, but he knows she works as a nurse in Lawrence Memorial Hospital, and that would probably be all kinds of helpful in terms of John’s alcoholism.

Dean glances over at Sammy opposite him, next to Jess, who is still leant eagerly forwards, talking animatedly to Cas and her sisters in equal parts. Dean mentally notes that he’d better watch out; if they get any closer his boyfriend’s going to become the newest bridesmaid.

He tries to catch Sam’s eye, maybe smile and incline his head towards Kate and John, signal to him somehow that _this has gotta be good, right Sam?_ But his brother’s eyes are hard, filled with concern, and staring at John and Kate’s bowed heads with an intensity that isn’t normal. He watches, stunned, as Sam exchanges a glance with Adam, who is wearing a similar expression.

What’s going on?

“Sam!” Dean whispers loudly, trying not to grab anyone’s attention over the loud hubbub going on all around him. Sam doesn’t hear however from across the wide table, and Dean grits his teeth, frustrated. “ _Sam!”_

Nothing. Irritated, Dean picks up his cake fork, and as nonchalantly as possible, hurls it at his brother’s stiff body.

“ _Ow!”_ Sam cries, turning to glare at Dean, but Dean has better instincts than that, and he pretends like he has no idea what Sam’s problem is as Jess fusses over him, asking if he’s okay. Once Sam has assured her he’s fine he rounds on Dean, leaning forwards towards the centre of the table and pushing some of the glasses and plates aside. “ _What?”_

Dean leans forwards to meet him, and they talk in hushed voices. “What’s going on with Kate and Dad over there? Why’d you look so constipated?”

“You’re such a jerk Dean. Nothing’s going on, don’t worry. I’m just worried about how much wine Dad’s had.” Sam replies, and before Dean can protest, he’s leaning back in his seat again, pushing his way into Jess’s conversation about the bouquet she’s chosen.

Dean knows for a fact that John hasn’t had any wine; he isn’t stupid, he knows to keep tabs on his father’s drinking at all times, and so far he hasn’t had so much as a drop. So why did Sam just lie to him? What’s wrong with John flirting with Kate?

Before he can mull it over any further, the waiters arrive, bearing dessert. Any and all thoughts of his family’s strange behaviour fly out of his mind.

* * *

 

By the time everyone gets up from the table, finally admitting defeat from the onslaught of heavenly food they’ve just consumed – Dean makes a mental note to pop into the kitchen and praise Valentino on his glorious culinary skills at some point – it’s around five.

People can’t half natter when they get together, especially Jess’s grandma Lucille, with whom Dean found himself immersed in a conversation about her deceased husband’s footrubs for a good ten minutes before Cas came and saved him, asking if he wanted to try his dessert. Dean accepted the invitation eagerly of course, and Castiel gave him one of those delicious smiles, wasting no time in spooning something chocolatey and warm into his mouth. That was definitely one of Dean’s favourite parts of the whole ‘dinner’, especially how Cas’s pupils dilated when he licked some of the excess chocolate sauce off the base of the spoon.

They meander into the living room, and the couches are all snatched up on a first-come first-serve basis. Luckily people start to yawn and look at their watches, apparently having grown tired after exhausting all of Sam and Jess’s food, energy and money. Gotta love weddings.

The elder generation are the first to make their exit, starting with Jess’s grandparents, who pat Dean and Cas’s cheeks fondly, talking vaguely of young love and handsome young men as they walk out of the door. Jess’s family are all staying in town, in various hotels and the like, so they hug Jess warmly, telling her they’ll see her later on for their girly night – as opposed to the hen night Jess insisted she _wasn’t_ having – and leave. John is already seated on his favourite spot on the couch when Missouri and Bobby call it a day, too tired and probably too drunk to do more than wave his hand at them as they head for the door.

Bobby had offered Missouri a lift home in the truck, which she gratefully accepted, and now he pauses at the door, extending the same courtesy to Kate and Adam, who don’t live too far away.

“Oh, I think – if it’s alright with everyone else, I might just stay here until we leave?” Adam says, making it a question by lilting his voice up at the end. He sounds a little desperate for some reason, and Dean can’t fathom why; it’s not like anyone in their right mind should actually _choose_ to subject themselves to supervising the petty family feud currently raging between the Winchesters and the Campbells. But whatever, as long as the kid’s cool with it. Dean nods, shrugging at him and he smiles gratefully. “Cool. You can go with Bobby, mom. I’ll be home late.”

Dean’s surprised at the venom in Adam’s voice; he’s never heard the kid be anything other than excitably amiable before. He and his mom are obviously having their own family tiff. Dean wonders for a moment if it’s anything to do with what he saw in the dining room earlier with John.

Kate sighs, running a hand through her dishwater-blonde locks as she looks at Adam, sadness and annoyance in her eyes. “Alright. Thank you Bobby, I’d really appreciate the lift.”

She calls goodbye to everyone as the three of them leave, and then it’s just Dean, Cas and Adam, standing awkwardly while the Campbells and John occupy the couches, each family on one side of the room as though there’s a dividing line running across the middle.

Dean huffs a sigh, wondering if he’s allowed to just leave them to it, let them hash it out or leave or kill each other. Adam shifts uncomfortably in the middle of the room, caught in the cross fire of narrowed glares, and Dean wonders where Sam, Jess and all their Stanford friends have disappeared to.

“So uh,” Dean starts to say, clapping his hands together once in that way that symbolises finality, “not that we don’t love that you guys are sticking around for a while, but we’ve got a bachelor party to get ready for, so-”

“Oh, didn’t Sam tell you?” Christian asks sweetly, a sly grin pulling up the corners of his mouth as he stares at Dean from his position on the couch. “We’re staying with you guys!”

Dean’s mouth falls open a little way, and it’s only the feel of Castiel’s arm slipping around his waist that keeps him from cursing aloud. Sure, Sam had said that there would be guests staying here over the course of the wedding, but _these guys?_

“Oh.” Dean says, unable to keep from sounding deflated. Samuel looks up at him, smiling like he’s won a prize; he’s clearly loving this. “All of you? Cool.”

“And Sam invited me and Mark along to the bachelor party, hope you don’t mind.” Christian continues, exchanging a look of amusement with Mark, who smiles silently.

“Course not. We leave at seven.” Dean manages to grit out, and with that, he resolves to find his little brother and rip him a new one right fucking now, because what the hell? The bachelor party is his area! Sam can’t just invite these douchebags without informing him! He unhooks Castiel’s arm from his waist and clasps his hand tightly. “Come on Adam.”

He stalks out of the living room, pulling Cas along with him as Adam hurries to trot along behind. Dean doesn’t stop for a second, not bothering to spare a thought for his father in that room with those assholes, because if you ask Dean, they all deserve each other. The three of them pound up the stairs, following the sound of laughter and chatter into Sam’s bedroom, up at the shitty end of the hall, his door looking like a fucking Star Trek gate.

“Sam-” Dean cuts himself off, the white hot rage he feels seeping out of him as he takes in the scene before him – Sam spread out on his space-age bed, his head on Jess’s lap, surrounded by their friends in various positions: on the floor, cross-legged on Sam’s ugly Stanford quilt, on the chairs stationed in various corners of the room. It’s like walking into a college prospectus, except the kids are a few years older, and this sure as hell isn’t Stanford anymore.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Sam asks in concern when Dean bursts in, Cas hauled along for the ride by their joined hands. His little brother starts to sit up, and six startled faces all stare at him in wonder, their eyes darting briefly to Cas, and then to Adam when he slinks in, looking uncomfortable.

“Uh…” All the fire has gone out of him, because what does it matter if he has to endure the cruel comments and sneering looks of a couple of assholes tonight? Sam wants them there, for whatever reason, and Dean sees that for once in his life, his brother is utterly, completely happy. Sam doesn’t need the stress right now, he’s getting married in a couple of days. So, with a sigh, and a burst of selflessness he should get a damn medal for, Dean lets it go. “…it’s nothing. Uh, could you maybe, uh, look after Adam for a bit? I need to go supervise downstairs.”

Adam makes a squeak of protest at the idea that he needs to be ‘looked after’, but it’s quickly remedied when one of Jess’s friends, the cute, red-haired girl with a freckly face, pats the space next to her on the bed eagerly. Adam’s pretty pliable after that.

Dean is about to turn from them all, but he catches Sam’s wink just before he goes. It’s a knowing wink, like Sam is perfectly aware the real reason Dean wants Adam out of the way is to spend some quality time with Cas. And man, if only that were true.

Sure, in an ideal world that’d be exactly his motivation, but he really does need to keep an eye on things downstairs, as much as he’d rather be taking Cas into his old room, pushing him up against a locked door and-

_Stop it, stop it stop it._

“I’m coming back for all you guys at seven, you hear?” Dean says loudly to the whole room, and he feels excitement in his gut brewing for the first time. The bachelor party. That's the one thing he _knows_ is going to be all kinds of crazy fun, because he arranged it, and no douchebag cousins are going to ruin his and Sam's good time. He's grinning now, thinking of the night ahead, and the men in the room all chuckle, whooping and punching Sam playfully. “Be ready, cause it’s gonna be awesome.”

He hears cheering as he shuts Sam’s door behind him, leaving him alone in the hallway with Cas. He feels an overwhelming need to apologise to the Angel for behaving so badly, dragging him up the stairs without an explanation in a fit of rage against his brother, but Castiel just smiles, squeezing Dean’s hand like he understands.

Dean wants to hug him, to pull the gorgeous, perfect guy into his arms and just let go of all the stress in his body, breathing in his fresh, summery smell, but of course he can’t, because there’s no reason to.

“The rehearsal dinner went very well.” Castiel says simply, and Dean smiles a little, nodding in agreement. It went better than he expected, because Cas is a master at pretending, and that had been obvious from the get-go.

Sighing, Dean looks away from the swirling oceans in his eyes. “Don’t worry Cas, it’ll all be over soon.”

He doesn’t notice the troubled frown on Castiel’s face as they start to walk away.

* * *

 

Sam, and his friends, along with Adam, gather in the living room at seven; a smiley, chipper bunch of young men that seem completely at ease with Sam himself, jostling him playfully and teasing him about the possible tortures the night laid out ahead of them could bring for him. Castiel himself isn’t aware of what’s in store, but he’s not particularly worried, he trusts Dean, and doubts that he would do anything to bring Castiel any harm or unpleasantness.

Sam’s wearing a varsity jacket in the trademark maroon and white colours of Stanford University, where Dean said Sam earned his law degree. The four men stand together by one of the couches, unable to sit on it as John Winchester is currently passed out across its width, his one leg hanging off the end. The boys ruffle Adam’s hair, pulling him around and teasing him as though he were their younger sibling, and Castiel smiles when he sees how happy Adam is at being included.

It is at this moment that Dean walks back into the room, having stepped outside for a moment to ‘confirm the arrangements’. Sam has given Deanna and Samuel John’s bedroom as he apparently never makes it up the stairs anyway, so they vacated the room a while ago, taking Gwen with them. Jess had graciously invited Gwen to her 'girls night', and Castiel had needed to hide a smile when he saw Gwen's reaction. She clearly was not enthused about the idea, but accepted, and is now in Sam and Jess's bedroom with the other female Stanford graduates, waiting for their own night to begin. Christian and Mark are still in the same position on the other couch across from John, watching the scene in front of them with indecipherable, stony expressions. 

Castiel can't help but wonder why they accepted the invitation to this wedding at all. They clearly don't want to be here. 

“Alright!” Dean says loudly, and Castiel is surprised that John doesn’t even stir. “Listen up everyone, the first thing we gotta do is get every stinkin’ one of you to the venue where we can get the groom nice and hammered before his big day. So if you’ll all follow me…”

Dean is grinning wildly now, and there are several cheers as he speaks, indicating everyone is well on board for the upcoming shenanigans about to take place. Dean walks towards Cas, an air of leadership about him that causes everyone in the room to begin to follow, and he takes Cas’s hand, leading him towards the front door. As soon as they’ve all trundled out into the crisp night air Dean halts them, and they stand the porch, looking around excitedly. They don't need to look far, as it quickly becomes pretty apparent what the plan is. Cas hides a rueful smile behind his other hand, and sneaks a look at Sam to glean his reaction.

“Gentlemen,” Dean cries loudly, hopping down the porch steps and breaking free of Castiel’s hand. He has to project his voice to cover the sudden laughter and raucous chuckling erupting from Sam and his friends, “I present to you – The Booby Bus!”

The group of men stand together, falling about with laughter on the porch, raised up a little from Dean below them, as if they’re on a stage, looking down at their conductor. And Dean does all the hand gestures necessary. He throws his arms wide, a huge grin on his face, displaying the enormous vehicle parked behind him in a grand, sweeping motion. ‘The Booby Bus’ is a blue and white van, large enough that Castiel actually marvels at it a little, wondering how Dean managed to get it here without Sam noticing. The windows of the bus are completely obscured with gratuitous close-ups of women’s naked chests, and Sam is basically burying his face in his hands, totally mortified.

“Holy shit, Sam! Your very own Booby Bus!” One of Sam’s friends cries out, gripping him tightly round the shoulders and staring up at the vehicle in wonder. His mouth is wide open, his breath falling out in silvery puffs. “Where’s it taking us, Dean?”

Dean just smiles enigmatically, standing in front of the gaggle of men, all of whom seem to be unable to take their eyes off the – admittedly eye-catching – bus in front of them. “Now now, let’s not ruin the surprise. Get my little brother on board folks, the humiliation has only just begun.”

Adam, of all people, is the one who throws a triumphant fist into the air at Dean’s words, letting out a whoop of pure excitement. The others immediately join in, save for Christian and Mark of course, but even they can’t help getting a little distracted by the boobies staring down at them from above.

“Yeah!” They cry, pushing Sam forwards, and hurtling across the lawn towards the vehicle, shouting in joy and surprise when an unseen driver opens the door for them to clamber eagerly aboard – shoving Sam in first of course.

Dean just grins after them, clearly pleased with himself, and Christian and Mark make their way over too, tossing Dean a vaguely patronising smile - you know, just in case there was any suspicion that either of the Campbell brothers were even a tad impressed by Dean's effort. Castiel decides he needs to do some damage control, fast, before those smug little bastards put a dampener on Dean’s mood.

He practically runs to Dean’s side, snatching up his hand again and grinning. He decides he doesn’t care if his hair is tousled by the wind, or if his grin is a little sloppy because that might help Dean believe what he's about to say. “Dean, this is fantastic. It’s the perfect idea for tonight; Sam is going to have a marvellous time.”

Dean smiles wider, eyes crinkling at the edges as he bats Castiel’s praise out of the air. “Naw, it’s just The Booby Bus. You can hire it free to take you to The Outhouse, I just thought it’d be a good idea is all.”

Castiel doesn’t have time to think of a proper response – not one that would be good enough to give Dean reason to believe he’s genuinely _good_ at this. He’ll have to wait till later for that. So instead, he raises their hands, still clasped together, up in front of his face, their gaze never breaking, and presses his lips softly against the cold skin.

Dean looks a little dazed for a moment. Cas smiles, hoping it will snap him back into reality.

“We should, uh…” Dean tries to say, and Cas tilts his head infinitesimally. A sudden, loud banging on the window above them makes them both jump, and they spring apart a little, looking up and to the right to see Adam, Sam, and two other remarkably similar looking Stanford-folk – Dean can remember that one of them is called Brady, and only then because of his years watching The Bunch - peering out from their positions inside the bus, grinning.

“Come on, Dean! The Booby Bus can’t roll without its ringleader!” The one that Dean can’t remember the name of cries out, his blonde hair falling in his eyes as he pounds on the glass. “Or his… partner. Obviously.”

Dean sighs and turns back to Cas, giving him a ‘what-can-you-do’ eyebrow raise before tugging him along by their still joined hands, forwards, into the bus. The interior isn’t too shabby, but that’s purely because Dean spent hours making sure of it, going over exactly what he wanted over the phone, sparing no expense for his baby brother’s last night of freedom. Typically The Booby Bus is just your basic, twenty-seater shuttle, but Dean has pimped it out, right down to the fluffy patterned rugs spread across the floor.

Flashing lights are strung up around the explicitly decorated windows, and over the ceiling too, illuminating the interior, and giving it a true disco-feel. A huge neon green bucket, so wide it takes up three of the seats, is squashed between Sam’s group and the Campbell men. Dean knows already that it’s filled with a layer of ice, and then piles and piles of beer bottles, cans and mini kegs. He even slipped a bottle of absinthe in there, because that’s the stuff that gets Sammy really wasted, and it’s going to be a fun evening dammit.

“Alright, everyone on board?” Dean asks loudly once everyone’s grabbed a seat. He lets himself steal a glance at Sam’s grinning face, peeking out from underneath long strands of hair; he’s shaking his head at Dean as though he disapproves of the whole thing, but the huge smile he’s wearing kind of contradicts that. That’s what makes the events-planning 100% worth it. Sure, it’s a pain in the arse to get all the managers and drivers and dancers to play ball with the evening you’ve got in mind, but as long as the customer is having the best possible time, there is nothing else Dean would rather be doing. That feeling is only tripled when it’s _Sam_ he’s doing it for.

There’s a resounding ‘woop’ in response to Dean’s question, and he takes that as an affirmative. He darts a glance towards his Angel, just to make sure he’s seated and not totally freaked out by the four foot high boobs staring down at him from all sides. He finds, to his delight, that Cas is being pulled down into the place next to Adam and jostled merrily along with the others as if he’s part of the gang. Grinning, and catching Cas’s eye long enough to wink and earn himself an eye-roll, he strolls down towards the front of the bus to inform the driver they are ready for lift off.

The bus ride doesn’t take long, which is kind of unfortunate, as the passengers all seem very enthusiastic about their current mode of transport. Sam’s friends – Brady and Liam, Dean has learned at last – pound on the glass as they are driven through town, ensuring every single passer-by gets a good look at the vulgarity on wheels they’re packed into.

By the time they arrive at the Outhouse club, spirits are high within the party. Even Adam seems pumped, having been coerced into chugging two bottles of beer from the huge cooler already, despite Dean’s protestations. The kid can’t get drunk before they even get to the damn club! Then again, who’s he to put a dampener on their good time? This is Sammy’s night, he should really be the one calling the shots. So instead of locking the cooler up for later, like he has half a mind to do, he forces himself to smile gratefully and accept the beer thrown to him by Liam. It’s kind of worth it when Cas, his eyes glinting with mischief, steals the bottle from him and takes a long pull, locked eyes with Dean the whole time.

Luckily they pull up outside the club before Dean can give into the powerful urge to crawl into his lap, knock the bottle aside and kiss the taste of the beer from his lips. Christian and Mark are the first ones off the bus – having helped themselves to a couple of beers, Dean can’t help but notice. Following close behind come the three Stanford boys, including Sam, and along with Adam. They all belt out some kind of ridiculously cheesy anthem from their Football days at college, and somehow Adam seems to know it too, which just makes the whole thing ten times more absurd. Dean can’t really find it in himself to be irritated though, not when Cas has threaded their fingers together as though he does it every day, shooting him little secret smiles, crystal blue peeping out from under thick black lashes.

They’re welcomed at the door of the outhouse by three very beautiful and very skimpily dressed women, all of whom are all too eager to join in with the boys’ chanting, one of them even throwing her arms around Christian and Mark’s shoulders (much to Dean’s delight), and ushering them into the building.

The air is thick with the heavy drumbeat of a live band, even as Dean and Cas make their way inside, and immediately Dean can see the place is thrumming with activity, despite it being a Thursday evening. The band playing is good, Dean can tell, just the kind of stuff he likes – old school rock with plenty of howling from a long-haired frontman wearing tight trousers, and lots of lingering guitar solos.

He looks down at Cas and grins, squeezing his hand as they walk further into the giant room, heaving with people, the wooden slatted walls decorated with the typical paraphernalia you’d expect for a place called ‘The Outhouse’ – fake moose heads with twisting antlers, comic street signs, signed photos of celebrities who’ve dropped in that no one’s ever heard of, but pretend to anyway. It’s a cool place, and most importantly, it’s _teeming_ with scantily clad, dancing girls. The bartenders are gorgeous; the waitresses are wearing puffy crop-tops and skirts that nearly show their crotches, carrying trays above their heads with dazzling smiles.

There are dancing platforms too, with rickety ladders threaded with fairy lights leading up to them. Some even have poles in the middle, and the girls in this place – whether they work here or not – seem to have no qualms about hopping up and showing off their moves.

It’s at about this point that Dean remembers the probability of Castiel’s flexibility in terms of gender preference. Dean distinctly remembers reading on Cas’s profile that he deals with both male and female clients. With all these half naked girls strutting about, there’s a good chance he’s as riled up as Sammy and his friends about now. He looks down at the Angel, suddenly worried, though he’s got no right to be, obviously. It’s as if Cas has heard though, because he gets a reassuring smile in return, and in no time, Dean feels their hands break apart, only to be replaced by the sensation of Cas slipping his arm around Dean’s waist, pulling him in tight.

It’s enough to give anyone a coronary, really.

Dean shakes his head quickly, ridding himself of inappropriate thoughts, or at least trying. He looks around, through all of the gyrating bodies around him, searching for Sam and the rest of them, because he booked a bachelor party in this joint damn it, and he’s got to stay on top of things - be the man in charge. At least for a little while. He is a guest at this party too after all.

He almost prises Cas’s arm from his waist, but he decides against it, because he paid for that too goddammit, and if he’s not getting sex from this walking orgasm, he wants to indulge in some harmless touching. Together, they push through the crowd, the screech of the guitar blaring in their ears, the feel of each other’s fingers grasping the fabric of their clothes. At length, after a lot of apologetic shoving, they are more or less thrown against the wood of the bar, panting heavily, feeling like they’ve just been in a tussle.

Liam, Brady, Adam and Sam all let out a cheer from beside them, and then Dean’s being crowded, slapped on the back and shaken enthusiastically in, what Dean suspects, is appreciation for a good evening thus far. The girls that welcomed them still hover nearby, giggling together, one of their perfectly manicured hands resting on Sam’s shoulder.

Time to get this party started, Dean thinks, and he reaches out to tap that one on the shoulder. She stiffens, probably thinking he’s some perv attempting to grope her, but upon looking up at him, her blue eyes wide and apprehensive, she relaxes, her fixed ‘work’ smile sliding back into place.

“Hey there!” Dean yells over the sound of the music from the stage behind her. “So, uh, I’m Dean Winchester, I spoke to your manager on the phone? About my little brother’s bachelor party?”

She nods excitedly, grinning away, and her two friends rush to her side. “Oh, don’t worry hun! Mr Roman told us _all_ about it! We’re gonna show you boys a good time.”

Dean just chuckles at her, winking, but he doesn’t miss the look of fear on Sammy’s face as the girl hops up onto the bar, dragging her two friends behind her, and it’s completely worth it.

“Yo, Ed!” The girl yells, somehow loud enough to cut through the sound of the guy on stage screaming into his mic. “Shut the fuck up for a sec, would ya?”

Dean sees Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up at her casual aggression, and he laughs, slinging an arm round his shoulders because he can’t help himself. The Angel’s expression is too funny; wide-eyed surprise as he stares at the girls on the bar, and gripping Dean’s waist still. Honestly, it’s like the guy’s never seen a stripper before. ‘Ed’ just grins back at the girl who shouted, stood on the bar, her legs apart in a defiant stance. “You’re one to talk _Chastity_!” He yells back, but he signals for the band to stop playing.

There’s a groan from the audience, but Chastity shushes them, and the other two girls hop down to grab something from behind the bar.

“Alright, alright, quit your whining! Music’ll start back up in a sec you lousy rednecks. In the meantime, we got ourselves one sorry son of a bitch over here, a _groom-to-be_! Can we get a little sympathy for ‘im?”

Liam and Brady are lapping up Chastity’s words, shoving a bright red Sam back and forth between them as he groans, hiding his face from view behind the long curtains of his hair. A chorus of sympathetic ‘ooh’s’ and ‘aww’s’ goes up throughout the room, people raising their mugs of beer up to toast Sam’s ‘misfortune’.

“I know, shame. He’s _delicious_ too, me and the girls agree, look!” Chastity grins and squats down on the bar, her crotch level with Sam’s face now. She’s wearing one of those ridiculously non-existent miniskirts, so if Sam wanted to he could see her panties right now, but being the goody-goody he is, he dutifully looks up at her face, gulping down the humiliation. She just grins, batting her stupidly long false lashes at him, and without a word, hauls him up onto the bar. The crowd cheers when they see him, though Dean thinks it’d be pretty damn hard to match the level of shouting their party is currently doing for him. Minus Christian and Mark of course, sat on a barstool each, gripping the beers from Dean’s cooler they’re still working their way through, and brooding as ever.

“Well boys? Whaddya say?” Chastity shouts across the room, and man, the crowd are really riled up now. They friggin’ _love_ Sammy, who’s looking for all he’s worth like he’s showed up naked to graduation day, all red and mortified in the face of this. He’s trying to keep his eyes away from Chastity’s exposed areas, but it must be a hell of a task cause she’s wearing practically nothing. If Dean were straight, he’d be all over that like a flannel. Chastity grabs Sam’s arm and punches it up into the air. “Shall we make his last night of freedom one he’ll never forget?!”

The crowd send out a whoop of agreement, their raucous cheering bouncing off the wooden walls and reverberating around the room loudly. Sam is obviously too embarrassed to notice, but Dean sees the two other girls climbing back on top of the bar, pulling a hose behind them each, the nozzles gripped firmly in their delicate hands. Suddenly Dean can’t stop laughing, because he knows what’s about to happen and it’s going to be brilliant.

“Sam!” Brady yells out from somewhere around Sam’s shin, luckily distracting the younger Winchester before he can see what’s happening. “You lucky dog, if you don’t get a kiss out of at least one of those girls I’m telling Jess you made out with me tonight!”

That just makes Dean laugh harder, and he has to bury his face in Cas’s shoulder. When he leans back, he realises he’s still got his arm wrapped around the guy, though Castiel apparently doesn’t mind. He’s grinning too, looking truly happy, his eyes sparkling even in the low lighting. Dean just wants to kiss him, of course, but then he always wants to do that, and he waits, staring into Cas’s eyes, for the feeling to pass.

That’s when he hears the most glorious sound. “WET T-SHIRT CONTEST!!!!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go to this link for pictures of the actual Booby Bus!   
> http://www.theboobybus.com/Booby=20Bus/index.html 
> 
> Haha x


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there's one thing Dean knows, it's how to have a good time.

Rationally, Castiel should not be having a good time. He normally hates things like this – noisy bars with dancing, flirty women, the floor sticky under his shoes. Right now he’s soaked, shirt plastered to his skin with beer and other liquids he doesn’t particularly want to identify. His shoes are ruined, it’s so hot in here that sweat is plastering his hair to the back of his neck, making his hands clammy and he’s pretty sure he’s got a bundle of bruises – none of which Crowley will be happy about – from all the guys in here shoving him about like a thirteen year old at his first heavy metal concert. But despite all of that, he’s grinning inanely, clinging onto Dean like his life depends on it, and gulping down what feels like his hundredth shot of the evening to the eloquent toast of “Yeahhhh! Sammeh!”.

The only problem is, he needs to pee. Quite badly actually now that he’s thinking about it. He stares down at the shot glass in his hand, a drop of bright pink liquid still caught in the bottom. He unwinds his arm from Dean’s waist, swaying a little on his feet, and sticks a finger in to mop up the last of the shot, depositing the sour, sticky liquid into his mouth. When he pulls his finger free with a pop, he finds Dean staring at him, the man’s arm still around his shoulders. Dean feels so solid, so warm when he’s this near, he's like a furnace, and suddenly Cas feels hypothermic, though he's not cold at all. That, along with the siren grin Dean keeps angling down towards him, might just be the reason Cas has been finding it so difficult to stop touching him all evening.

Dean swallows, and Cas can see his pupils are blown wide. He feels kind of bad; he shouldn’t be so seductive in his movements, even accidentally. Dean is very fragile right now, though he might not seem it, and he’s clearly not someone who likes the idea of paying for sex. Cas sucking juice off of his fingers right in front of the guy is hardly going to help with that, seeing as Dean is undoubtedly aroused, and Castiel can’t sleep with him for free – as much as he wants to.

But with Dean, it’s one thing to think rationally, and quite another to actually put it into practice. Castiel wants Dean, he has acknowledged this already, and it’s hard, much harder than it normally would be to stop himself flirting, letting his fingers wander over hipbones, even sharing a damn straw with the man standing before him.

“Ex-excuse me.” Castiel stutters out, all too aware that his own undoubtedly pupil-blown eyes have been staring into Dean’s for a good minute now, unblinking. He has to tear himself away from this, he’s a little tipsy, and he could easily betray his work ethic. The urge to pull Dean towards him, close his mouth over sweat-dampened lips, taste the spirits on his tongue… it’s getting overwhelming. Plus, he needs to pee. That too.

He ducks out from underneath Dean’s arm before he can change his mind, mouthing 'bathroom' in response to Dean's puzzled expression as he pushes his way forwards into the thick heat of the club, the crowd like a slowly moving wall of bodies, slowing him as he threads through them. He spots the glowing ‘Restroom’ sign, like a neon green beacon in the darkness; his salvation.

He wishes he knew where the others were; he and Dean keep losing sight of everyone because it’s too hard to keep track through the heavy tension building up between them, the feel of each other’s fingers brushing against flushed, goosepimpled skin the only thing they could focus on in the noisy heat. They’d stayed by the bar instead of joining the others on the dancefloor, drinking and playing along as the waitresses teased them, Cas telling Dean about his life when he asked, because he can’t possibly say no to that man.

Sam and the others had been stopping back at the bar periodically all night, so that all of them could do a shot together, toasting the night, and Dean’s amazing planning skills of course. Dean had laughed a lot when Cas had told him about Gabriel, and the divide between the Heaven and Hell side of his work, and Cas found himself laughing too, finding it all so absurd suddenly. When he’s there, at work, it seems like his whole world, but he can see from here, by Dean’s side that it’s not at all, and that Crowley is just a man, one with a little too much power.

He reaches the other side of the room at last, the faded ‘Fellas’ sign nailed to a swinging door looking like the entrance to Paradise right about now. He’s about to push through it when the sight of something nearby stops him. He turns, stepping backwards a little to compensate for his unsteady feet, to see Adam grinning down at Chastity, the waitress-slash-dancer from before, who currently has her hands on the young kid’s biceps, looking like she wants to gobble him up.

Castiel leans forward, bracing himself on the wall next to the bathroom, wondering vaguely if he should call social services, and trying to make out what either of them are saying.

“…you honey, are seven deadly kinds of delicious. You old enough to be out tonight, sugar?”

“I’m ninetee- I mean, I’m twenty-one.” Adam’s voice drops lower, and he dips his head towards Chastity. She doesn’t move away, still smiling saucily up at him. “And are you as chaste as your name suggests, sweetheart?”

“Twenty-one, huh?” Chastity laughs, ignoring his ridiculous attempt at a chat-up line, and reaching a hand up to slide it up the side of Adam’s neck. “Got any proof of that, cutie?”

Castiel watches, mouth open in mild shock as Adam smirks, his eyes flashing with something so wild that he wouldn’t have believed the kid capable were he not seeing it right in front of him. In seconds he’s pulled Chastity flush against him, gripping her around the waist and spinning her around until she's backed up against the wall, his hands slipping down to the belt of skirt resting on her hips. Her eyes fly open wide with what looks like a mixture of shock and arousal, but she grins in approval at the change of events, and then Adam’s kissing her, eager and a little unpracticed sure, but with all the enthusiasm one would expect of a teenager on a night out like this one.

Castiel makes a ‘hum’ sound, and raises his eyebrows before pushing the door open and stumbling into the bathroom to give them some privacy.

The toilets of The Outhouse are entirely what one would expect. Namely filthy, with garish lighting and several smashed mirrors. The floor is puddled and damp, but Castiel skilfully avoids it, taking note that almost of the cubicles on his right are locked, with sounds emanating from within that suggest unhygienic sexual activities are taking place inside.

Castiel pees quickly, taking advantage of the one empty cubicle at the far end to do so, and finds the simple task much more challenging than it should be in his current state, especially the zipper-button combination of his pants. Eventually he manages, and strolls back out, swerving a little, to look in the one barely in-tact mirror, the smashed fragments laying in various places in and around the sink. Someone has scrawled 'bloody mary!' three times in the bottom right corner, and Castiel scoffs, thinking there's no way he believes that kind of crap, but he represses the urge to say it aloud, just in case. Instead, he makes a quick assessment of the state of his physical appearance (could be worse, considering) and, with a few fumbles, pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Ignoring the rhythmic rattle of the door from one of the stalls behind him, he types out a quick text.

 **To: Anna Milton**  
From: Castiel Novak  
10:21pm  
Annna  
ned ur hlp  
thnk am sxuelly  
attrctd 2 client  
what I do???  
Cas xxx

That done, he sets his phone on the practically flooded countertop beside the sink and waits, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear the haze of alcohol befuddling his mind. A few moments later, the phone buzzes.

 **To: Castiel Novak**  
From: Anna Milton  
10:23  
Castiel?! What are you  
talking about? Where are you?  
Why is your typing so  
incoherent? Are you drunk?  
Anna x

Castiel scowls at the message, taking several tries to make his brain understand the word ‘incoherent’, which is quite ironic, he supposes. He rolls his eyes at Anna, picturing her fretting in her normal motherly fashion as she reads his text. Why did he want to talk to her again? Oh right, because she's the only one in the world who could possibly help him right now. He mentally tells her that it’s not his fault he’s not able to send her Shakespearian-level texts today, he’s a little inebriated. Images of Sam urging him to down a row of shots earlier in the evening flash into his mind. The younger Winchester had marvelled over his tolerance levels, and Dean had flat out laughed when Castiel had said honestly for the first time ‘I think I’m starting to feel something’.

Well, it looks like his drink has caught up with him. His phone buzzes again, interrupting his thoughts.

 **To: Castiel Novak**  
From: Anna Milton  
10:26pm  
Cassy! Forget tht Im  
jst being whiny as usual.  
Go get him tiger! I’ll keep  
it secret I swear. Im  
proud of you bestie boo!  
P.S send me pics if he’s cute!  
Anna ;) ;) xx

Castiel stares at the message before him. It had beeped through before he could even type out a reply to the first one. His brow furrows in confusion at Anna’s words. Doesn’t this text directly contradict what she said minutes before? Then again, the new message is much more preferable to the one that preceded it. Could Anna really be on board with the idea of Cas breaking the rules of the company? If he followed her advice, flirted with Dean, kissed him or... did _anything_ with him without charging him, that could get him fired. But Anna had said she would keep it between them, that nobody would ever know. And how would Crowley ever find out? He’s all the way back in Detroit, stuck behind his huge desk, counting his dollar bills and probably doing something else equally ridiculous like smoking a damned cigar. If it weren’t for the current situation, Cas might try and squash the idea down, stick to the rules, be the poster-boy of the company he’s worked hard to become.

But even knowing that Dean is just _out there,_ in the club, probably dancing, his wet shirt clinging to his defined body as he moves his hips to the song, maybe pulling someone else towards him, pressing their bodies together… Castiel growls a little then, and he hears a chuckle from one of the cubicles at the noise. The idea of Dean dancing with someone else is a little too much to cope with right now.

The trouble is, he just _wants_ so badly. His alcohol-soaked brain isn't letting him push the want away, and he should have known this would happen. He obviously hadn't quite realised the extent of his yearning for Dean, but right now, staring at his totured reflection in the fluorescent lights of the club bathroom, it's quite obvious he basically  _needs_ this. The touch of a body against his own that actually cares about something other than his physique. But more than that, he wants _Dean,_ only Dean, with his good soul so beautiful it's blinding. 

He shouldn’t, it’s forbidden and he’s risking more than just his job – Dean’s feelings, the lie they've spun together, Dean's relationship with his family - so many things are at stake. But it's been so long, and he's tired of having nothing, of feeling nothing, and waking up alone in his apartment. He never gets what he wants, never lets himself, because he's about giving, helping people, not himself.

He takes one more glance at his phone screen, soaking up Anna’s text one last time, and safe in the knowledge that his best friend is behind him, despite every one of his doubts, he exits the bathroom, plunging back into the crowd, to take what he wants, just this once.

* * *

 

Cas is taking way too long, and it’s making Dean antsy. He needs to feel that lithe, damp body next to him, warm and pliant under his arm again or he thinks he might explode. He’s sitting on a bar stool, his fingers drumming impatiently on the countertop, one had grasping a beer – one of his own, his favourite brand. One of the cool things about The Outhouse is that it’s optional BYOB.

He spots Christian and Mark across the bar, in the same position they’ve been in since the beginning of the night, and he tips his drink at them, grinning because he's in the mood to be a douchebag. They roll their eyes at his pretend friendly gesture, but Mark, creepy weirdo that he is, grins back, locking eyes with Dean and chugging the rest of his beer.

It’s at about this point Dean feels a hand slam down on his shoulder. He spins round, relieved, thinking it’s got to be Cas, but instead he finds himself face to face with one of the girls from the beginning of the evening, a busty brunette wearing a bra and not much else, grinning at him like she’s caught a mouse. He gulps, and his gaze flicks to Liam - who’s now shirtless for whatever reason - and Brady standing behind her, both of them laughing uproariously and clutching each other as they watch the girl sashay up close to him. Sammy is there too, a little off to the side, smiling and looking apologetically at Dean, shrugging like he couldn’t possibly control the actions of his friends.

“We thought you deserved a little somethin’ after all you’ve done tonight!” Brady yells as the girl’s hands grip his shoulders, anchoring Dean to the bar stool. His eyes are wide, and he looks round desperately for Cas, but he’s nowhere in sight. The girl starts to push herself up a little, using Dean’s shoulders for leverage, and soon she’s straddling him, the barely-there panties, that Dean can fucking _see_  cause of her non-existent skirt,scraping against the denim of his pants.

“Did you not catch the concept of my flaming homosexuality?!” Dean yelps in Brady and Liam’s general direction, and he tries to avoid looking at the miles of golden skin writhing around on top of him. That just makes them laugh even harder, and the girl doesn’t even pause in her movements, pressing her chest against him to begin a very, very unwanted lap dance. Dean wonders how much Liam and Brady tipped her in order to get her to perform such a lewd dance while he's still at the _bar_ for crying out loud. “Why don’t we give this lovely lady to my brother? He surely deserves a lap dance more than I do!”

Dean’s shouting is useless, barely heard over the sound of the band anyway, who’ve been playing relentlessly this whole time. Some of the other waitresses are cheering Dean’s lap dancer on now, shouting encouragement as she throws her head back, dark hair swishing in the air behind her, and she grinds her hips against him.

There’s a deep, urgent cough, like waves crashing against granite, loud enough to grab the attention of practically everyone nearby. As soon as Dean hears it, relief floods his body. He tips his own head back, smiling at the sound.

When he looks over, he sees Cas, standing next to him, arms folded, a smirk on his face, and a dangerously possessive look in his eyes. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think that was one hell of a pissed off jealous boyfriend. He has to applaud Cas’s acting skills, he really does.

The girl just laughs at Castiel’s expression, but she clambers off Dean’s lap, probably seeing the same thing Dean sees in his smouldering gaze.

“Thank you. I’ll take him from here.” Castiel growls at the girl and she giggles, slipping sheepishly away into the crowd, Liam and Brady letting out moans of disappointment as she goes. Cas takes his place back at Dean’s side, leaning against the bar and sliding a not-quite-casual hand down to grip Dean’s wrist. Yeah, he’s definitely going for the possessive boyfriend thing, Dean thinks, practically preening.

“Hey Cas!” Sam suddenly shouts, distracting Dean for a moment. He’d almost forgotten his brother had been watching, and that’s actually kind of embarrassing now that he thinks about it. Sam is full on grinning now, like Cas sending that girl packing was the best thing he’s ever seen. They’ve gathered a small crowd of onlookers, all of whom were whooping and cheering Cas as he intervened moments ago. “Are you just gonna let that chick get away with that? Mark your territory, dude!”

Dean almost falls over in his haste to slide off of the bar stool, about to make his way over to Sam and possibly beat the hell out of him, bachelor party or not, but Cas’s grip on his wrist stops him in his tracks. He halts, a sharp tug where his arm meets his shoulder forcing him to take a few steps backwards, lest he lose his balance in his drunken state, and then he's being pulled again, the club a blur of lights and faces around him as he's spun into the arms of an Angel.

Dean’s far too drunk to be able to register what’s going on, let alone have any control of the situation, so when Cas grips his waist, fingertips practically burning imprints into his skin, and manhandles him back against the bar, sending his hips crashing against the wooden countertop, Dean is totally speechless. He feels his stomach flip over, trying to concentrate on the millions of sensations thrumming through him, the sharp dig of the wood jabbing into his hips, Cas’s steel blue eyes piercing into his, the pressure of his hands against the flesh of his waist, the sweet syrupy scent of Cas when he’s this close, mingled with sweat and beer and something… other.

Then Cas is kissing him, ferociously, pressing his entire body against Dean’s so that there’s nothing but heat and friction. Their fabric of their shirts, damp with sweat and beer ruck up against each other as their chests collide, and he feels Cas deepen the kiss, the Angel’s tongue slipping past his parted lips, and twining with his. He feels Cas’s hand run up his back, fingers slippng effortlessly through the beads of moisture until they're curled tightly in his hair, holding his head in place as his tongue continues it's exploration. If he didn’t know already, Dean would know Cas was an expert in the escort-hooker-whatever life, just from the way he kisses because _god,_ he can't remember anyone having kissed him like this, not ever, and it's like sweet torture, because he wants more, and knows he can't have it.

His heart is a jackhammer against his ribs, his stomach is so full of knots he's almost certain it's going to break free of his abdomen, and when Cas slides his leg between Dean’s it’s almost too much, so he holds on for dear life, gripping the back of Cas’s shirt, still wet and sticky, accidentally pulling it free of where it's tucked into his pants. Cas is relentless, moving urgently against him, practically grinding him into the bar, right in front of everyone, and he doesn’t care that Sam’s watching, or that people have been wolf whistling this whole time, or that Cas can undoubtedly feel how hard he is through his jeans. He hadn’t quite realised how much he’s been craving this, and Cas isn’t stopping, so he kisses back hungrily, hands sliding down up and down the now-bared skin of his back, daring to slide over his ass because Cas initiated this, and that means he’s allowed. Cas moans, and rubs against him harder, making Dean gasp against his mouth. _Christ_ he wishes they were naked right now, but instead Cas just sucks Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and bites down, hard.

Dean pulls away, out of surprise mostly, but also because he just needs to _breathe._ Cas doesn’t seem to share that need, seemingly perfectly happy to continue ravishing Dean within an inch of his life, air in his lungs or not, but he lets Dean break away for a second, panting. Dean’s erection is straining against his jeans, and it's getting past the point of uncomfortable, straying into the territory of _rip these fucking pants off me now you gorgeous jackass_ , not helped by the fact Cas is still pressed tightly against him, crowding his personal space as if he’s been holding back for a while.

“Wh-where did that come from?” Dean asks, barely coherent while they're still recovering, and it’s only partially from the alcohol he’s consumed. Castiel smiles predatorily, as if Dean needed to be any more turned on.

“I learned it from the pizza man.”

The pizza… _Adam?_

Dean blinks, trying to fathom how _Adam Milligan,_ the only person Cas would know as the damn ‘pizza guy’ could have inspired Cas to behave like this, but he quickly decides it doesn’t fucking matter, though he is definitely sending the kid a fruit basket.  

* * *

 

It’s a few hours and several more lap dances later that the boys decide to call it a night. The lap dances had all been for people other than Cas and Dean of course, on account of the fact that if any half-dressed girls dared to approach either one of them, the other would glare and growl menacingly until they slunk away.

Sammy’s lap dance was a thing of beauty. Dean had insisted it be Chastity, since she was the one that got Sam all red and flustered earlier in the evening. And she’s not even as hot as Jess, Dean thinks, grinning. He manages to tear the girl in question away from Adam’s grabby hands for a moment, slipping her a twenty dollar bill and telling her to pull out all the stops for Sammy’s big night.

Sam was beetroot red the entire time, spending most of the dance peeking from between his fanned fingers, which were pressed firmly over his eyes. Chastity was a goddamn star of course, being a professional, and she did a striptease for him, on his lap practically the whole time as she wriggled and writhed about. It was perfect obviously, and Dean can’t remember the last time he laughed that much.

He doesn’t really remember the other guys getting lap dances – save for the couple of encouragement cheers he sent to Adam during his because it was the kid's _first_ bless him, and he'd confessed his love to the poor girl by the end of it – as he spent most of the time with his tongue down his Angel’s throat. Cas seemed more than enthusiastic about this which was good, because if Cas had told him to stop, Dean might have screamed in frustration.

Singing their hearts out, the boys start to pile back onto the Booby Bus, Christian and Mark going in first, still stony faced and perpetually unamused. It’s when Adam falls on Dean, hiccupping once before throwing up what looks like everything in his stomach over the sidewalk, that Dean decides he needs to take action here. He casts a forlorn look at Cas, who is looking very much like he’s on board for a full-on make out session on the journey back, but announces to the group that he’s taking Adam home in a taxi.

The kid doesn’t need any more jostling from Sam and his friends tonight. Heck, they’d probably make him chug another beer with them if they could.

Cas looks vaguely disappointed at the news, but nods in understanding and crosses to where Dean’s propping Adam up before heading onto the bus. He’s walking in zig-zags he’s so drunk, but Dean’s no better so he just chuckles and wishes he could drop the kid for a sec so he could pull Cas in for another kiss while he still has the chance.

Castiel places a hand on Dean’s arm – partially to steady himself, Dean thinks secretly, smirking.

“See you when you get home.” Cas says, looking like he’s trying to convey a thousand secret messages through the intensity of his azure gaze. When Dean’s face remains blank, the Angel sighs and leans forwards, stretching up on tiptoe until his lips brush Dean’s ear. “I’ll _wait up_.”

Dean watches, eyes wide as Cas’s gaze flicks down to his lips before he lowers himself back down, turning and walking drunkenly back to the bus. He blushes, shaking his head a little because _did that sound like an invitation?_ When he’s seen the last of Cas disappearing through the door, he turns to find Sam smiling like he’s won a damn prize.

“Shuttup.” Dean admonishes, cursing himself for slurring.

“You lurrve him.” Sam sings, giggling so much that he stumbles and ends up bracing himself against the bus for support. The bus actually rocks a little to compensate for Sam's gigantor frame.

“Get on board you sappy weirdo.” Dean grumbles, catching Adam as he slips a little in his grasp.

Sam salutes Dean, probably because he can’t really form the words to do much else, and clambers aboard. Dean watches the bus drive away wistfully. It’s probably a good thing, he thinks. Time apart from Cas will give him a chance to build up his stamina again, because God knows he needs to do that if they're about to...

Dean stops, trying and failing to will his muddled thoughts into coherency. What's going to happen when he gets home?

* * *

 

Luckily for Dean, calling a taxi, bundling a groaning Adam inside and getting him the few blocks home to a troubled-yet-understanding Kate doesn’t take long at all, though he does have to reassure the driver once or twice that the kid won’t throw up, and pray that he actually doesn’t again.

It’s when he’s being driven home that Dean makes the decision.

“Hey, uh, could you pull over for a sec?” Dean asks huskily, spying the ATM out of the window and trying hard to sound sober despite knowing he’s far from it. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’s doing, because that’s a pathway to a river of crap, and he’s got far too much of that in his life already. For once, he wants to just do something, something he wants, and not think about the consequences.

“Sure thing, son.” The driver says, steering the car over to the kerb. Dean is fast, faster than he should be considering he’s emptying his accounts of practically all his money. He shoves the $1500  into his boot, and fills his pockets with the rest of the cash, eventually resorting to stuffing the bills anywhere they’ll fit. He slides back into the taxi before even five minutes have ticked by. The driver doesn’t mention what just happened, and they continue on towards home. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I don't know you, but I want you, so bad... ♫

The house is utterly silent as Dean closes the door behind him, shutting the outside world away with one click of a latch. Moonlight leaks through the crescent window in the door, throwing shadows up the walls; it makes everything look strange somehow, the familiar shapes of the objects with which Dean is more than familiar looking suddenly foreign, almost otherworldly in the half-light. Dean breathes deeply, curling his fists. He’d half expected Sam and his college buddies to have continued the party, but apparently the bus driver had graciously taken them all home, because there’s no one in sight save for Christian and Mark, asleep on the couches in the living room, or maybe dead, because they are totally still. No, Dean thinks, resisting the bizarre urge to go and check on them, make sure they’re breathing, tonight isn’t for them. It seems so clear to him, though he’s vaguely aware that this could be the drink talking, that the house is in stasis, waiting and silent for the sake of two people, and Dean can barely breathe.

He hears the tick of a clock somewhere nearby, like a countdown, reminding him that although it feels like he has forever, morning will come, as it always does, splitting the stillness, and chasing away this rare opportunity, so he needs to move. He forces himself to take a step, pushing his way forward into the gloom, one foot in front of the other, heart thudding heavily in his hollow chest. He’s suddenly terrified, which is so strange for him. He’s done this part a thousand times, stranger after stranger, even in this house, in his old room; so what is it this time? What’s so different about Cas?

His footfalls seem to echo like gunshots as he climbs the wooden stairs, each step bringing him closer to the dull light ahead of him, a thin sliver of amber peering out from underneath the thick panel of his door. He tries to breathe steadily, but it’s like he can feel the heat of what’s about to happen, clinging to his skin, choking him, making him shudder.

It takes several seconds, out on the landing, his ears straining for sounds betraying movement from within, before Dean can push down the handle of his bedroom door.

Cas is lying in bed, when Dean walks in. He’s on his back, hands resting on his chest as it rises and falls, but awake, like he promised, and Dean’s resolve almost crumbles right then, because he’s so fucking _Angelic_ lying there, like some goddamn Snow White, or something equally ridiculous. Dean wants to forget it, because it’s stupid to think he, Dean Winchester, deserves something that perfect, even for one night.

Cas looks up, blue eyes burning with some barely contained desire, and Dean remembers. He remembers the desperation he felt in Cas’s grip around his waist, the sounds of need in his moans as they'd kissed. He lets himself believe that Cas wants this just as bad, even if it may not be true.

He presses the door closed behind him firmly, his eyes locking with Cas through the darkness of the room. Cas has turned on his bedside lamp; the faint yellowish glow is the only source of light in the room, and it’s illuminating him just barely, his skin glinting with gold, making him appear ethereal, holy.

He says nothing, and for that Dean is glad. He feels sick with tension, his heartbeat is so loud it’s shaking him, he’s positive Cas can hear it even, but he never wants to break this silence. He walks to Cas slowly, mind swimming with memories of his breath, his lips, his caresses over the course of the evening and his fingers _ache_ , desperate to touch, to possess, to claim.

Standing there, looming over him in the dark, he feels almost predatory. Cas looks small and vulnerable, his eyes bright and staring even in the dark, like two headlights down a deserted road. There, draped in the thin grey cotton of his t-shirt, Dean could almost forget this was the same person who’d driven him to the edge of ecstasy back in the bar, grabbing him and bruising him, plundering his mouth with teeth and tongue until they were both crazy with need.

Almost.

Dean decides he needs to level the playing field; he's starting to feel a little rapey, standing over Cas in the near pitch-black while he’s so unresisting, and he hates it. He toes off his shoes, their gaze never faltering, and Dean sees the bob of Cas's adam’s apple as he swallows thickly, betraying himself. He wonders for a moment if there’s even the slightest chance Cas is as caught up in this ridiculous tension as he is right now, but he doesn’t let himself ponder too long - thoughts like that could lead right off this road, and he wants so badly to stay on track.

As his fingers reach for the button of his jeans he’s trembling, and Cas is still motionless, though his breathing increases in tempo. There’s a thousand sensations fighting over themselves as he works at his pants; Dean’s nerve endings feel almost sore with anticipation, and he wants nothing more than to be unclothed, tangled in Castiel’s naked limbs.

It’s too much, _it’s too much_ , Dean thinks, sweat beading on the base of his skull as he wills himself to calm down, take things slowly. Castiel is making him crazy and he hasn’t even _touched_ the guy yet. The thought makes Dean smile ruefully, and he tries to focus on Cas’s breathing instead of the feeling of all his blood rushing to his groin; he listens to the gentle ‘whoosh’ of Cas’s inhales and exhales as he fumbles with his button and zipper, hooking his fingers under the hem and pushing his jeans down his legs with a thwump. At last.

Castiel just stares, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s exposed thighs, mouth parted, before he meets Dean’s gaze again. He thinks about making a quip about how Cas likes to watch, but shakes it off, having enough sense at least to know that this is not the moment for joking. He feels his mouth fill with saliva as he rakes his gaze down the shape of Cas’s body, the thought of it making his dick jump in eagerness, despite the fact Cas is mostly hidden under the covers, which are pulled to his waist. He kicks off the jeans completely, fingers itching again to touch the Angel laid out before him, because suddenly this ‘take it slow’ thing he’s doing seems like a ridiculous idea, he needs to be closer, now. Obviously.

He grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls, wanting to do it quickly to make up for lost time, but finding his alcohol-addled brain can’t quite keep up. He hears Cas’s breath stutter, and he _knew_ he liked that tattoo a bit too much, so he smirks, keeping his knowing expression hidden from Cas as he slips the material over his head.

He’s down to his boxers now, which pretty much means no going back, and he swallows, just the feel of Cas’s gaze boring into him enough to get him breathing rapidly. He thinks about going all the way, slipping off his boxers too right now, but he’s already a trembling wreck, and he thinks he might faint before he even got anywhere near Cas if he did. So he moves instead, edging backwards, eyes locked with Cas’s, and relishing the Angel’s confused expression as he moves further away. He creeps to the end of the bed, tiptoeing even though there’s no need – everyone else in the house is clearly fast asleep, nobody will hear them because this night is just for them. It’s all so obvious that they're meant to do this, Dean thinks, and he’s at the foot of the bed now, so he leans forwards, hands meeting the soft linen on either side of where Cas lies. Slowly, his body moving like a jungle cat in the darkness, green eyes flashing as he lifts his head to look at Cas, he crawls over the Angel, taking his time about making his way upwards because he can, because they’ve got time.

He crawls, his knees straddling Cas’s blanket covered thighs, but still he moves forwards, not stopping until he’s level with Cas’s face, two hands either side of his head, looking down into clear blue, and sighing because he's finally there.

Dean’s skin is sizzling by the time he’s close enough to touch their lips together, so there’s no finesse as he dips his head, no need for it considering they‘ve been doing this all night anyway. Kissing Castiel is like a drug, and the moment their lips meet, Dean feels himself falling further into the high, every sensation heightened, his skin prickling with a feral need, one that’s been consuming him for almost two days now. Castiel responds instantly, and it’s clear he’s been restraining himself for the entirety of Dean’s strip tease. The Angel’s hands are all at once everywhere, sliding into his hair, pulling gently as he pushes his face upwards, sending their lips crashing against each other, his tongue meeting Dean’s and curling against it. Dean slides against him, an irrational hatred of all clothing in the way springing up in his mind as he feels the chafe of Cas’s shirt against his chest, separating their skin.

Cas trails his hands down Dean’s bare back, nimble fingers tracing the contours of his spine and not stopping, dipping lower until they’re slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, clutching at the flesh of his ass and squeezing.

Dean gasps; his hands nearly giving out beneath him, and he pulls back a little from Cas’s mouth, lips shiny, his eyes squeezed shut against the rippling shocks of firm hands kneading his sensitive flesh. It lasts for a moment, Dean biting back a moan, and then he’s diving back in, down to the exposed skin of Castiel’s neck, slipping his leg as far between Cas’s as he can, given that the covers still separate them. Castiel makes a small noise, strained as though he’s holding back, and Dean can feel it caught in his throat as he sucks at the tender skin, licking wetly from his clavicle to his jaw.

Cas’s hands shoot out from where they’re trapped in Dean’s underwear, smoothing up the skin of his back again to grip his shoulders as Dean grinds against him, his thigh pressing against the bulge he can barely feel through the thick cover, and he makes a mental note to get rid of that damned duvet within the next thirty seconds or so. He can feel Cas squirming underneath him, because apparently he really digs the neck kissing. So Dean continues, using his hips to pin Castiel in place and sliding his crotch against Cas’s as he painstakingly sucks mark after mark into the temptingly unblemished skin of his neck, and when Castiel moans, to Dean it’s akin to being smothered in rich, dark chocolate.

Dean bites down against the skin, certain that by now it's raw and sensitive, and Castiel whimpers, threading his fingers into Dean’s hair again and pulling, hard enough to make Dean stop what he’s doing, tilting his head back to catch the need in his eyes. Before Dean can react, Cas pushes against his shoulders and slams their mouths together, the full force of the Angel’s weight pressing against him as he slides his tongue into Dean’s mouth. It takes Dean a couple of moments to realise Cas is trying to move him backwards, and he makes a noise of approval, immediately helping by threading his arms around Cas’s waist, yanking him forwards, Cas pushing the covers away with impatience. Their mouths remain connected, and Dean moves until he's sitting upright, pulling Cas onto his lap. Man, Dean thinks, this is so much better than any damn lap dance at The Outhouse some tarted up girl tried to force onto him, because Cas is so eager, grabbing the back of Dean’s head and gripping tightly, holding his body firmly against Dean’s as he moves, sinfully slow, grinding his hips as he works their mouths.

Dean is finding it difficult to concentrate by now, but he holds on to Cas as tightly as he can, his arms still wrapped around his skinny waist as they kiss, open-mouthed and dirty because there’s no reason to be chaste anymore, not when he has an Angel grinding against his erection. His hands manage to find their way underneath Cas’s shirt somehow, sliding up the Angel’s back and rucking the grey material up around his armpits.

Cas makes an impatient noise when Dean gets stuck, and leans backwards, much to Dean’s disapproval. It takes only seconds for Cas to divest himself of his shirt however, and then he’s back, pressing himself against Dean in all the ways he can manage, still moving his bony hips in a way that’s making Dean’s eyes roll back in his head a little way. He can feel his dick pressing against the thin material of his underwear, leaving a wet mark no doubt as it leaks desperately against the cotton, and Cas is sitting directly on top of it, fitting the shaft into the crease of his ass as he rubs hard, only two layers of material between them.

It’s as Dean is mouthing at the skin covering Cas’s jaw that he feels the sharp push again, against his shoulders, throwing him backwards until he’s laid out flat on the bed, Cas still sat upright on top of him. From his new position he just has time to marvel at the sheer, godlike beauty of the creature straddling his hips, his thin, pale body looking like it’s been sculpted out of ice, practically glowing in the near non-existent light. And then Cas is climbing off him, moving to the edge of the bed and leaning over it, reaching into the gloom. Dean can see quite clearly that Cas is a boxers man now, and he grins into the darkness when he sees the impressive tent in them, Cas’s arousal betraying him, showing he’s human after all.

Castiel rummages in the darkness for a few more moments, the sound of a zipper piercing the air, and Dean’s befuddled brain can’t, or won’t, fathom what he’s doing, so he just lies back, waiting, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. When he pops back up it seems like decades have passed, and Dean has to stop himself from sitting up, grabbing hold of Cas and wrapping him up in various limbs, never to let him go, but he doesn’t, waiting instead as Cas throws whatever he’s retrieved onto the bed beside them both.

Then he’s back, thank god, because Dean is starving for him again, and Cas just _knows –_ Dean would bet money that he can feel it too. He spreads himself over Dean, pressing their bodies together, chests sticking slightly in the heat they’ve created. Cas aligns them so that they feel of their pounding hearts drum through each other’s chests, and Dean wants to moan because _damn_ that’s hot, though he’s not entirely sure why. Cas kisses Dean urgently, like he needs to, like it’s oxygen, and then he breaks off, leaning back up again.

Dean wonders if Cas is trying to kill him.                                                                                                                        

He feels fingers, a little cold as they brush the skin of his hips, nudging at the hem of his boxers, a slight question perhaps, but one that Dean doesn’t intend to answer with anything more than embarrassing whimpers. He gulps down his nerves, gripping the sheets with one hand, and Cas tugs, pulling the offending item down his thighs in one sharp motion. Dean squashes down a loud groan as his cock bobs free at last, and he bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut against the dual sensations of the cold air brushing against his swollen flesh, and the scrape of Cas’s fingers dragging the boxers down the rest of his legs.

“C-Cas…” Dean can’t help gasping out, and he thinks he hears Cas chuckle lowly. His fingers are cramping, he’s gripping the covers too tightly, but he can’t stop, he’s too wound up and it’s going to kill him.

“Dean.” Cas breathes against his thigh as he kisses his way back up, maybe in reply, maybe just as a reminder that this is who he’s got underneath him, trembling and incoherent in the darkness of his childhood bedroom.

He feels movement, and for a few seconds it’s too dark to see, even if he squints, but then he feels Cas’s skin, hot and damp against his and he knows. Cas is naked now, utterly, and Dean wants to moan, wants to grab him and run his hands and tongue all over him until he’s shuddering, cursing aloud, but for several long moments he’s too far away to reach. Cas is slow, too slow about lowering his body down against Dean’s again, but eventually Dean can feel it, the bump of Cas’s own hardness against his hip, and then against his own. Cas gasps a little when he feels it, his breaths heavy and laboured as they fan over Dean’s face below him. Cas squeezes his eyes shut, and for a couple of seconds Dean is able to drink in the sight of him, lost in the feeling, his face screwed up and flushed with effort. But then he pushes his hips down, into the sensation, sending their cocks sliding together, and any coherent thoughts about Castiel’s beautiful face fly out the window.

Dean can’t help it then, he moans, low and needy, grabbing hold of Cas’s razor sharp hips, hard enough that it could leave a mark, he’s sure. Cas’s movements falter a little at the feel of Dean’s hands, and he seems to almost fall, his elbow buckling a little as he presses their stomachs together again.

He feels soft, Angelic hands taking hold of him, delicate fingers stroking the length of his cock, making him spasm, his own fingers jamming themselves further into the flesh of Castiel’s hipbone.  Cas makes a broken noise, through his teeth like he’s still holding back, and then he’s rocking his hips, gripping them both tightly in one fist as they slide together, Cas’s hand, slickened with both of their come, like a cocoon as they move against each other, slipping back and forth until Dean is babbling, though he wouldn’t know what he’d said if you’d asked him.

“Dean, I have to… we have to move this along…I…”

Dean is way too far gone to be surprised at Cas’s words, and he’s in wholehearted agreement – if Cas has more planned, they need to get a move on, because he’s definitely not going to last much longer. He nods emphatically, hoping Cas can see it in the darkness, and cursing way too loudly when Cas leans away again, sitting back on his ankles and reaching for whatever he’d thrown on the bed before.

His mind clears a little, and he suddenly realises, thoughts clicking into place as Cas reveals the tiny bottle and foil packet in his hand. Oh God, he thinks, electricity singing through his body as he closes his eyes, trying desperately not to come just from the anticipation. It barely works, because Cas climbs back onto his thighs again, grabbing hold of his hand, still balled in the sheet, and brings it up to his mouth, trailing spit-slicked lips over the back of his knuckles.

“Dean,” he whispers, quiet enough that Dean strains to hear him, “do you want to…”

Dean sits up, spurring into action suddenly, because it’s all at once so clear. He can feel the drunken haze receding a short way, and he’s starting to realise that this is more than likely to be a one night thing. He’s got this perfect, otherworldly Angel here, naked with him, asking if Dean wants to take control. If he doesn’t take advantage of this opportunity, he’s a fucking idiot.

“I’ll do it.” He whispers back, and takes the lube and condom from Cas’s unresisting fingers.

Castiel is so beautiful it’s unnerving. His skin is velvet smooth as Dean slides an arm around his waist, self-conscious about his calloused fingers despite himself, and pulls the Angel forwards until he’s arching his back. Dean carefully manoeuvres him, lifting him up the bed and laying him backwards until his head is resting on the pillow.  He doesn’t quite know why he’s being so careful with Cas, he’s just a man after all, a stupidly pretty one, but one that’s obviously more than on board with some of the kinkier things in life. He’s not a damn china doll, he reminds himself crossly, and Castiel tilts his head at his expression.

The Angel spreads his legs, closing his eyes, probably to try and stay in control. His cock is flushed and begging to be touched, though Dean knows he has to resist. They’re both probably too close to be attempting this, and definitely too drunk, but he perseveres, kneeling between Cas’s thighs and kissing the skin there, starting at his sparsely haired knee, and trailing his mouth down in soft pecks, purposefully avoiding the one area Cas must be dying for him to touch, and working up to his hipbone. He does this with both legs, just because he likes the sounds Cas is making.

“Dean… _enough._ ” Castiel gasps out as Dean places the final few kisses. His voice sounds strangled, utterly consumed with lust, and Dean smiles against Cas’s skin so that he knows he’ll feel it. “Hurry.”

He kneels up then, spurred on by Cas’s encouragement, and runs a hand down Cas’s chest, fingers trailing lightly over his right nipple, just so he can watch the Angel shudder. His black hair is tousled and fanned out on the pillow, like a perverse halo, and Dean can’t stop staring. Black hair, white skin and blue eyes. It’s like something out of a damn fairytale. Maybe more one you’d get on HBO, he thinks on second thought.

He stops when his hand reaches Cas’s hip, feeling the Angel stutter underneath him, pushing upwards into his palm. Castiel’s teeth are worrying his pink lip as Dean pops the cap of the lube open, pouring a large dollop onto his fingers. He puts the condom to one side for a moment, and Castiel’s breathing speeds up even further, glancing down the length of his body to look at Dean through hooded eyes. Dean shoots him a smile. He means it to be mischievous, to put him at ease, but instead it’s filled with a kind of adoration, and Cas tilts his head against the pillow, curious, but smiles weakly back all the same.

He pushes Cas’s thighs up, folding his legs at the knee so that his feet are planted firmly either side of where Dean is kneeling. Experienced or not, this has got to be nerve-wracking, so Dean moves up quickly, leaning through the gateway of Cas’s parted thighs to capture his mouth in a kiss. They’re still kissing as he trails his fingers downwards, finding Cas’s entrance easily – Cas isn’t the only one with experience – and rubbing over it with one gentle finger. Cas shudders at his touch, and his lips become firmer, kissing Dean harder and winding a hand around to grasp the back of his head.

Dean decides to take this as encouragement and pushes in, his finger slipping inside, enveloped by tight heat, and making Cas start.

“You okay?” Dean asks against Cas’s lips, and Cas looks surprised that he even asked that. He smiles, Dean can feel it against his mouth, and nods wordlessly, so Dean smiles back, and continues.

Working Cas open is so much better than Dean had anticipated. It’s not his first time doing it to anyone, obviously, but he’s never paid this much attention before. He watches the flutter of Cas’s lashes, the crease of his brow, the steady flush of his thoroughly bitten lips. By the time he’s got two fingers inside Cas is moving against them, pushing down onto him as Dean works his slicked digits in and out. He’s so responsive; he can see every emotion that Cas is feeling flickering across his face. He uses Cas’s expression to guide him – a slight wince if it’s too much, an ‘o’ formed by his lips if he does it just right, a spoilt little glare up at where Dean’s face hovers, telling him to add another finger, which makes Dean laugh.

“Oh!” Castiel cries near breathlessly, when Dean adjusts the angle, and Dean really, really hopes it was loud enough to wake the Campbells down the hall. He presses against the same spot again and Cas moans, hands flying up to grab the pillow either side of his head. “ _There_ , there. Dean, there.”

Dean smiles, and does it again, crooking his fingers and brushing over Castiel’s prostate, relentless, repeating the gesture because he likes to watch Cas’s reaction, and he doesn’t let up till the Angel is positively writhing below him. He slips a third finger in, just to be safe, and leans down to lick a teasing stripe up the underside of his swollen dick, just because he’s that cruel. Castiel bucks up, moaning and cursing, nearly giving him a nosebleed, but luckily Dean swerves away just in time, chuckling and muttering under his breath that he’s a ‘damn menace’.

He slides his fingers out, almost instantly nervous again, and looks up to see Cas chuckling too, head arched up, eyes closed against the sensations he’s just had running through him. Dean’s rock hard now, made a whole lot worse by watching Castiel’s very graphic display whilst speared on his fingers.

His heart is thrumming and he feels the air, thick with sweat and sex now, clouding around him, pushing against his burning skin. Why is he so nervous? He’s shaking as he reaches for the condom, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on with ease thank goodness, because he could so easily have messed that up with the amount he’s tembling. He misses the sight of Castiel watching through heavily-lidded eyes. He grabs the lube again, pouring a load more onto his palm and slathering it quickly onto his straining cock, not letting himself linger despite the relief he feels, because he’s already way too far gone.

Hands on Cas’s waist, he lines himself up, their eyes locking through the faint golden haze of the bedside lamp, nearly swallowed entirely by the darkness all around them. Cas makes a noise, perhaps one he didn’t quite mean to let escape, and it sounds impatient, so Dean smiles, and pushes forwards, forcing himself to go slow. Cas’s eyes flutter closed, and his head tilts upwards again, throat tendons straining, providing channels for the rivulets of sweat trickling down towards his collarbone. Dean keeps inching in, thinking of every turn-off he can to make sure he doesn’t come just from this. Christian and Mark downstairs, the sweaty imprints of their bodies sinking into the Winchester’s couches, their sneering expressions as they watched Dean from the bar of The Outhouse…

It works, barely, and Dean feels calm enough to focus on the feel of Cas’s muscles swallowing him, enveloping him in slick, tight warmth.

“G- _God_ Cas…” Dean chokes out, biting his lip, beads of perspiration dripping down the sides of his face with the effort of going slow. “Feels… fuck…”

Cas just moans, lifting his legs up to wrap them around Dean’s waist and pulling sharply, tugging Dean towards him so he’s fully sheathed. And wow, _a little warning would be nice Cas,_ Dean thinks, because he so easily could have come just then, but he hangs on, deciding instead to retaliate with his own bordering-on-cruel tactic.

He stills, Cas’s legs tight around him, holding him in place, and Dean reaches up, grasping hold of Cas’s neglected erection, eliciting a broken cry from somewhere near the head of the bed. Cas’s head snaps forwards to look at him, his hair plastered to his scalp now, and Dean grins, starting to pump his hand slowly up and down, his palm still slicked with lubricant.

“D-Dean… _move.”_ Cas grits out, and in that red velvet voice it’s as good as dirty talk. Dean does as he’s told, not needing the sentiment to be repeated, and moves his hips backwards, Cas loosening the vice-grip of his legs a little to compensate.

He starts slowly, sliding in and out, his hips moving fractionally in case Cas is in any discomfort. But Cas is having none of it, and he groans, grabbing hold of Dean’s arm and forcing himself downwards, using the grip of his legs round Dean to snap his own hips back and forth in time with Dean’s thrusts. Dean can barely do more than let out a fractured moan, and starts to move faster, pumping his hand around Cas’s cock until Cas is keening, his movements becoming stilted and erratic, and he flops back against the bed, unable to do anything but lie and writhe underneath Dean, thighs still locked around his waist.

Dean shifts a little on his knees, starting up again from a slightly different position, going fast now, slamming into him because Cas really seems to enjoy it, judging from his reactions – Dean has come to terms with the fact that he cannot save the sheet from Cas’s clutching hands, pulling it free of where it’s tucked into the mattress. The Angel cries out suddenly, and Dean knows he’s found his prostate again, so he aims for that spot like a man on a mission, knowing he hasn’t got much time left anyway. He can feel his orgasm building, roiling up low in his stomach like a tsunami wave, and looking down at Cas, plastered in sweat, his eyes shut as he squirms underneath him, he can see the Angel is almost there too.

He slides his hand over Cas’s cock once, twice, three times more, and then Castiel shouts, far too loudly Dean knows, and he might have woken everyone up, but who the hell cares? Cas’s mouth is open in a silent scream, his head tipped back, and Dean feels the hot spurt of his come splatter over his hand, not that he cares in the slightest.

He keeps going, his hips snapping forwards a few more times as Cas whimpers, and then he’s coming too, leaning over quickly and burying his face in Cas’s shoulder to muffle the cry he can’t stop escaping. He’s shaking, trembling, as he holds himself over Cas, and the orgasm gushing beneath his skin takes a good minute to ebb away completely. Eventually, his mind clears, and all he can feel is the aftershock, making him shake so hard he can’t stay up, though luckily he’s softened slightly by the Angel underneath him.

A few moments later, boneless and weary, he manages to scrounge up the energy to roll off of Castiel, worried he may have crushed him after collapsing.

It seems like hours go by, both of them just lying there side by side, though of course it must have only been a minute or so, maybe less. Dean pulls off the condom because he can’t stand the feel of it now, he never can, and he ties it expertly, throwing it across the room so it lands – in what Dean has to smugly admit was a totally rad way – in the wastepaper bin in the corner.

There’s a pack of wet wipes in his drawer he knows, still there from when he was just a teenager jerking off in his room to Dr Sexy re-runs and filthy-tongued gentlemen online pretending to be in the military. Yeah, Dean is a sucker for a guy in a uniform, pretend or otherwise.

Taking a moment to get his breath back, he sits up and leans across Castiel, rummaging in the drawer beside him until he feels the packet crinkling beneath his fingers. He pulls one out, feeling immediately that it’s not exactly as wet as he would have hoped, but then that’s hardly surprising considering it’s been like four years.

He gets to work then, reaching for Castiel’s hands one at a time, and gingerly wiping the cloth over them, getting in between each of his fingers, swirling the tissue over his palms. He wonders if he should just use the same one, but decides against it, thinking it’s too dirty, and he throws it across the room in the direction of the bin again, reaching for another one. This one he smooths down Cas’s abdomen, gathering up the remnants of what they’ve just done, and cleaning them away, until he’s perfect again, skin glowing still in the half-light.

When he looks up after throwing that one too, Castiel is looking at him curiously, and he blushes, realising he didn’t even damn well _ask_ to clean the come off Castiel’s stomach, he just did it, like they really were an item, like it was expected, like they were in love or something.

No wonder he’s looking a little weirded out.

But then Castiel smiles, and Dean relaxes, letting himself give one in return. He lies back against his own pillow, and they both pretend it’s totally normal that Cas shimmies up beside him, drapes an arm over his chest and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder to go to sleep.

Heck knows, maybe in Castiel’s line of work that is normal, Dean thinks.

He looks down at Castiel’s closed eyes, the remnants of a smile on his lips. And maybe not, he can't stop himself thinking, before sleep overcomes him.  


	11. Chapter 11

When Castiel wakes up to find himself wrapped stark naked and wrapped in Dean Winchester’s arms, he’s hit with two vastly conflicting emotions.

The first is a surging, blissful joy, because this is what he’s been secretly dreaming of for two days, and right here, in Dean’s tiny little bedroom he can pretend this is completely okay. Dean’s soft breaths brush his face, his eyes flickering behind closed lids as he dreams on, blissfully unaware that he’s clasping Castiel to his chest, pressing them together under the covers until it’s almost too warm for his mind to properly function. The other emotion is, of course, a kind of slow, sickening dread.

He slept with Dean.

He had sexual relations with the one man he absolutely shouldn’t have done. The feelings he’s developed for the man beside him over the course of their time together mean that there is no justifiable reason to be intimate with him, especially after Dean had expressly stated that he didn’t feel comfortable paying for it.

Dean shifts a little, and Castiel’s eyes flick up to his slackened, peaceful face. He can’t help but smile, in spite of everything. In this moment, right now, before the consequences of their actions have beaten them down, it barely matters right now that he’s almost certainly going to be fired for this. What’s important is that he and Dean are here, having wrapped themselves so tightly around each other even in their unconscious state that it would be clear to anyone how each of them felt. The only thing that matters right now is that Dean had wanted him, even after he’d revealed more of himself than he ever had before, to anyone. Dean had kissed him, touched him, lain with him despite knowing the extent of his fucked-up life and it had been incredible.

He sighs, wishing his mind would stop swinging back and forth between opinions; it’s exhausting and he’s only just woken up. Not to mention the raging bull of a headache he’s currently got crashing around in his skull. At least today should be relatively uneventful, he thinks gratefully, and decides he needs coffee, as soon as possible. When Dean wakes up, they can talk about this. Maybe Castiel can convince him to keep quiet about what they’ve done in regards to his work. Maybe Dean will kiss him again, tell him he doesn’t want to part ways at the end of this. Maybe it will all work out.

And after all, it’s hardly their _fault_ that this happened – they’d just built up too much sexual tension in a short space of time. The two of them getting drunk together, especially when they were both so obviously attracted to one another was inevitably going to end this way. Right?

Right. Coffee.

He leans a little towards Dean because he can’t possibly help himself, and presses a very gentle kiss to his sleeping lips. Dean doesn’t wake, and Castiel begins the laborious process of unwinding himself from Dean’s limbs – all of which, he notices, are just as gorgeous as they were when they moved above him last night.

* * *

 

Dean wakes up with a start. He doesn’t mean to, and it’s an unpleasant experience, especially since as soon as he’s sat upright, his hangover slams into him headache-first, making him groan loudly and bury his face in his hands.

He stops mid-whine when he remembers that there should, in theory, be someone else in the bed with him. Someone else that… if his memory serves him correctly… should be pretty damn naked and pretty damn exhausted.

He gingerly pulls his hands away from his eyes and looks round, expecting to be met with Castiel’s amused, sparkling gaze. Instead, the bed is empty again. Just like yesterday.

“Crap.” He mutters croakily, because the fact that Castiel is already gone is almost definitely a bad sign.

He definitely needs underwear on for this, he thinks blearily, turning and reaching out blindly towards the edge of the bed. Luckily his bag is still beside him on the floor, relatively unscathed, so he pulls a fresh pair out and slips them on, feeling much more in control now that he’s reasonably covered.

He almost, _almost_ doesn’t want to run through the details of what happened in this very spot last night, purely because he’s genuinely worried he might implode from the sheer intensity of the memory. But his eagerness to replay Castiel’s nakedness in his mind wins over inevitably, and so he relaxes a little, reaching out to place a soft hand on Cas’s pillow, reminding himself, that this did actually happen. 

Of course, he is perfectly aware that it was a stupid, stupid thing to have done. Sleeping with Castiel was the one thing he swore he would refrain from doing, because now, obviously, he’s completely and totally smitten. He’s kind of glad in a way that Cas isn’t here right now, because he thinks if he saw the Angel in all his glory, especially naked, and _especially_ after everything they’d done last night, he’d probably do something stupid like giggle or blush or maybe just plain melt into the duvet.

He also has no idea what the protocol is on the whole paying-him thing. He got all that cash out last night, but he and Cas hadn’t even talked about it. They’d just started up, Dean had kissed him and Cas had kissed him back, there on the bed, almost like they were a real couple, just loving each other in the dead of night.

In fact, Dean thinks, his forehead creasing, Cas had practically _invited_ him to bed, back outside that club hadn’t he? Surely that isn’t in the Escorts rulebook. His head pounds with the effort of conjuring up the memory. God, he could really use some coffee.

Just then, the brass of the door handle creaks as it’s pushed down, and Dean freezes, his eyes darting over to the noise, just in time to see Cas carefully edging the door open, as silently as possible in case Dean were still asleep, and entering the room. Their eyes meet, and for a few painfully drawn-out moments there is nothing but a pregnant, wide-eyed silence.

Of course it’s Castiel, being the professional he is, that breaks it. He smiles, his pink lips stretching wide and pushing tiny dimples into his rouged cheeks. He glances down at the ground as he steps fully into the room, almost as if he can’t quite meet Dean’s gaze head-on, and it’s about the most fucking adorable thing Dean’s ever witnessed.

“I brought you some coffee.” Castiel says a little hesitantly, padding across the room towards him, his eyes darting back up to Dean’s. He’s clearly a bit nervous, and Dean notices for the first time that he is, in fact, holding two steaming mugs in his hands. Hey, it’s not his fault he didn’t notice straight away; Castiel’s face happens to be much more interesting than the coffee mugs he’s seen a thousand times.

He also notices, as he takes one of the cups gratefully, their fingers brushing so that they both start blushing like idiots, that the Angel is wearing his Motorhead t-shirt. “Thanks, Cas.” Dean manages to choke out, referring to the coffee, and he takes a long gulp. It’s perfect; Cas must have been paying close attention when Sam made his cup yesterday. Then, because he can’t help it, he quirks a smile at the Angel now perched on the edge of the bed, twisted to look back at him. “Nice t-shirt.”

It’s completely worth it for the deep shade of scarlet Cas goes, and the Angel ducks his head, smiling into his own cup. “Yes… sorry. I- I couldn’t seem to locate mine after… well…”

Dean snickers and leans backwards to place his cup down on the bedside table behind him. Cas follows suit, almost as if Dean were instructing him, and places his own cup down by his feet. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’ll help our cover y’know. You wearing my clothes the morning after.” Dean winks at him, astounded by his own cheekiness, and shuffles towards Cas a little, staying under the covers because he is all too aware of his almost-nakedness right now. Castiel turns towards him, curling his legs up on the bed, a smile still on his lips. “Plus, it looks good on you.”

Castiel bites his lip, smiling wider, and his eyes flick down. At first Dean thinks it’s because he’s embarrassed from the compliment, but then he notices where Castiel’s eyes are glued. “Ohhh, I see.” Dean says, his knowing smirk evident through his voice. Castiel glances up at him, surprised. “That’s the real reason you’re wearing my tee, huh? So you’ll get a longer look at this tattoo you seem to like so much.”

Castiel’s eyes are round with denial. “No, I didn’t, I-” He stops short when he sees Dean’s teasing grin, and shoves him in the shoulder. “Did _not._ ”

Dean just raises his eyebrows, staring at Castiel until he squirms under the pressure. Honestly, it’s no use; he knows a tattoo kink when he sees one.

“Well… maybe a little.” Castiel says grudgingly, not looking at Dean.

“Aha!” Dean grins, and then he grabs the t-shirt in question, tugging it forwards sharply, Angel too, pushing him down until he’s got him pinned to the bed. Castiel is faux-appalled and fights back, grinning, using his hands to push at Dean’s bare shoulders, trying to kick Dean’s legs out from underneath him, but it’s no use. Dean has decided to be merciless. His hands slide round to Castiel’s sides and begin tickling, and to Dean’s great relief, because that could have been really awkward, Cas responds _beautifully._ Apparently he’s the world’s most ticklish Angel, because he’s fighting and clawing and begging, tears leaking out of his face, his cheeks flushed bright red by the time Dean is finished.

When he finally lets up, Castiel is panting heavily, glaring at him, but smiling too, so it’s okay really. “Asshole.” He breathes, and Dean laughs, rolling off him a little because he feels a _bit_ mean. Well, it is a tad unfair seeing as Dean himself isn’t ticklish in the slightest – not that Cas hadn’t briefly attempted that as a retalliation tactic too.

He tries not to let his gaze linger too long on the Angel beside him, but it's difficult, especially as Dean’s close enough now that he can see the row of purplish marks peppering the pale skin of Castiel’s throat. He blushes when he sees them, remembering how he had held Cas, clutched him and pulled him close as he bit down on his neck, sucking at the skin, his tongue sweeping over and over the same spot so he could taste the salt and sweat.

Tearing his eyes away from the hickeys at last, Dean finds himself on the receiving end of an amused smile. Cas’s eyebrow is raised at him, questioning Dean’s thought process probably, and Dean blushes harder, grinning. Locked eyes with him, Castiel reaches a hand up towards his throat and trails a single finger down the mottled skin, tracing the marks Dean left, wordless and so deliriously sexy Dean thinks he might actually be in Heaven.

Cas sits up then, sudden and unexpected, grinning mischievously because the son of a bitch _knows_ what he's doing to Dean. Dean almost wants to pull him back down again, but he can’t, that would be stupid, he knows. Dean barely knows what’s going on, but he’s ninety percent sure they’ve already bent the rules way too close to breaking point, and Cas is undoubtedly only humouring him. Cas takes another sip of coffee, still chuckling softly, his legs draped over the edge of the bed.

Though one last tickle can’t do any harm, Dean thinks, grinning, and as soon as that coffee mug is back down, he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Cas’s waist and scrabbling against his sides until his legs kick and he flails, yelping helplessly.

Cas’s left foot sends something flying across the room, the object making an impressive arc as it sails through the air. For several moments Dean sits, mouth agape, his arms still wound around Castiel as they watch it fly. He can’t figure out why the room is suddenly filled with confetti. It seems a little odd that there would be a sudden parade in his room, he thinks, though maybe that’s just what happens when two guys have  sex as awesome as he and Cas did last night.

Then, like a freight train to the temple, it hits him, and he is all too aware of what the greenish slips of paper raining down onto his bedroom carpet represent. The object Castiel kicked – and it’s Dean’s fault, of course it is, he thinks, so _stupid,_ shouldn’t have tickled the guy – was his shoe. The one he took off last night, the one he stuffed full of dollar bills to pay for a sleazy hookup. He closes his eyes. Shit. 

Castiel stares at the money littering the ground and stiffens. Dean could swear the temperature in here just dropped ten degrees. “Dean…” He says in a low, grim voice that Dean doesn’t like at all. Dean’s hands unwind themselves from Cas’s middle and he sits back on his heels, his lip caught between his teeth. “Did you intend to pay me for last night?”

It’s the first time they’ve even properly mentioned what happened all morning, and Dean had liked it better before, when they were pretending it was no big deal, like it was allowed, like there were no complications with the fact that they fucked and had an amazing time.

Dean shifts a little, sitting back on the bed and drawing his knees up so he can hug them to his chest. He nods, but realises quickly that Castiel is still facing outwards, eyes glued to the money on the floor. “Um, well, yeah…maybe? I just… I didn’t know…” He trails off, not knowing what the hell to say, because who even knows what’s happening anymore? What’s he _supposed_ to say? Castiel should just tell him, that way he’d stop getting everything wrong.

Something like thirty seconds pass, in silence, and Dean wants to say something, but can’t think what. He wishes Jo were here, in a way. She’d undoubtedly know what to do, what Dean is doing wrong. Suddenly, Castiel moves, very slowly, inch by inch, turning to face him on the bed. It reminds Dean of that girl from The Exorcist, which is completely the wrong thing to think about obviously, but now he’s comparing the two, and all of a sudden, Castiel is scary as fuck.

“ _Why?”_ Castiel asks, practically hissing, his eyes narrowing, and he looks angry, but there’s something behind it, something that looks a lot like hurt. Dean sucks in a breath. “I told you that if you wanted to order my extra services, we’d discuss it, and the payment, _beforehand._ I thought I made that clear!" Dean doesn't know hw to respond, because Cas is right, of course he is. "What, do you think I just let all my clients mark me up like you did? Do you think I make out with all of them in clubs even without them initiating it, and then proposition them afterward? Or let them strip in front of me, crawl into bed with me and just start doing whatever they wanted without a word?”

Dean’s mouth falls open a little way, and he can’t think of a coherent response. He doesn’t want to let Castiel believe the worst though, can't let him think he's that seedy, so he at least has to _try_. “I didn’t want you to think I was expecting anything!” He cries, trying to look sincere because, dammit it’s the truth. “I mean… obviously I was expecting _something_ or I wouldn’t have stopped at the ATM, but… I don’t know! I just… wanted to be _sure._ I mean, I _hoped_ what was going on between us all night might’ve been real, and yeah I was thinking that what we were doing can’t normally happen between you and whoever you take out, but… how do I _know,_ Cas?! You could just be really, really good at your job!”

“So you decided, just in case _everything_ I said or did last night was a lie for me to coax more money out of you, you’d break out the big bucks. For ‘insurance’.” Cas reiterates, and he’s fuming, Dean can tell. He stands up, feet treading dollar bills into the carpet, his furious gaze burning into Dean’s. “Well just so you know, you’re two hundred short.”

“Cas, wait!” Dean cries, just as Castiel storms out, having the courtesy not to slam the door or anything, but the venom is there. “ _Shit.”_

Hold on a goddamn minute, he thinks, mind swirling, so Cas is annoyed because he _tried_ to pay him? That barely makes any sense at all! Did that mean he would have been happy just having had sex and carrying on with the flirting and tickling like they had been? Could it be, in that case, that Dean might not be as alone as he’d once thought in this one-sided crush on his forbidden partner in crime?

It seems very much as though that is the case, Dean thinks, forlornly, because it’s basically screwed to hell now surely. Godfuckingdammit, he thinks, staring at the cash spread out on every spare patch of carpet. He could have had a chance with a friggin _Angel._ But no, he had to go and put his foot in it, like he does with everything else.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and slides off the bed to start picking up dollar bills.

* * *

 

It’s not Dean’s fault, it’s not Dean’s fault, it’s not Dean’s fault, Castiel repeats in his mind. He’s too angry, he knows, and he’s having to chant it over and over like a mantra, because it’s _not_ Dean’s fault that Castiel can’t control his emotions. So he’d mistakenly believed Dean had the same thought process as him last night, and had gone to bed with him in the knowledge that they were breaking the rules, but that it didn’t matter, because they needed to express themselves physically, as it was eating them alive.

Instead, it seems Dean had thought he might have been playing a part _the entire time_?

Castiel grits his teeth. How can someone that beautiful, inside and out, think that badly of himself? Why can’t he let himself believe that Castiel would just want him, as he is, not as a damned Escort for Crowley’s stupid game of chess that nobody ever wins.

He should really go back upstairs, talk to Dean, especially as he’s now standing on the front porch in his pyjamas. He can’t risk any of Dean’s family seeing him this worked up though; they might guess he and Dean had fought, and that would jeopardise the image they’ve created. No, he just needs a few moments to calm down. He basically shouldn’t have slept with Dean at all, which is what he told himself in the first place, because it only complicated everything.

On the plus side, they had a very cute moment this morning, when it had all seemed deceptively optimistic, before all of the money stuff came about, and that gives Castiel a glimmer of hope. He just prays that Dean can see it too.

* * *

 

When Dean eventually makes his way downstairs, having pulled on a pair of jeans, a shirt and tee, he looks around a little, trying to be nonchalant about it obviously, but Cas is nowhere in sight. He can’t afford to let the disappointment show on his face, as Sam and Jess are at the table, and if they realise he and Cas are going through some issues, things could get difficult. They sit side by side, drinking coffee, Jess with a hand on Sam’s neck as he leans forwards, looking a little pale and groaning periodically.

Dean can’t help grinning a little at the sight. “Hey _SAMMY_!” He says loudly, and Sam’s head jerks up, wincing and scowling at Dean through reddened eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

He walks around to the back of Sam’s chair, slapping a marginally cruel hand down on his brother’s shoulder. He notices Jess trying to stifle a giggle, and this is why he loves that girl. She’s got a great sense of humour. “Sam honey? Do you have something you wanna say to your brother in regards to last night?”

She smoothes the hair down on the back of his neck, talking softly. Dean grins, glad for this distraction. Teasing his baby brother can get him through even the worst of situations.

“I hate you.”

Dean chuckles. “I know you do. And you’re welcome, Sammy. I know, stop gushing – I’m an _awesome_ party planner.” He sits down then, mostly because he’s pretty damn exhausted, and he has every right to be, considering what he got up to in the early hours of the morning. He can’t help but smirk when he remembers, despite everything that just happened, because the fact of the matter is, he had Castiel underneath him last night, pale and glittering and moaning his name. That’s something he’s holding onto like, _forever._

He brings his hand up to his mouth to hide the smile, but he must have been a fraction of a second too late, because Jess catches it, eyes twinkling. “What are you so happy about, Dean-o?” She asks, her other hand coming up to clasp Sam’s around his coffee mug. “Get lucky last night?”

Dean _feels_ himself flushing, and he stares resolutely at the table, willing himself not to let a bubble of hysteria escape.

“Oh, like we don’t already know what _you_ got up to all night long.” Sam groans, leaning over to bury his face in Jess’s shoulder. He’s smirking a little though, the bastard.

“What?!” Dean yelps, ready to defend himself to the death even though his heart is hammering yet again. Jesus, this weekend is going to give him ten kinds of heart attacks.

“Seriously Dean, what were you _doing_ to him? I could hear it from down the hall!” Sam continues, lifting his head now to grin at his brother, apparently delighted to have some ammunition at last in retaliation for the abuse of his hangover.

“Okay, you need to shut the hell-” Dean begins, but he’s cut off by a hand skimming over his shoulder, making him shudder, which under the circumstances is pretty friggin embarrassing.

“Any more coffee?” Castiel asks, his voice the epitome of pleasant and calm. Dean stares up at him, open mouthed, and he’s _still_ wearing his Motorhead tee goddamn him. He didn’t even have the decency to cover up those damn hickeys. Dean can’t help licking his lips a little at the sight; he looks delicious. How the hell is he expected to be in a fight with someone this gorgeous?

“Sure, Cas.” Jess says around a grin, snickering with Sam a little, probably at the sight of his bruised neck let’s face it, because they’re _school children_ and Dean only barely resists growling at them both. “In the pot.”

“Come help me, Dean?” Castiel asks, and to anyone else it would sound perfectly sweet, but to Dean it sounds almost threatening, because it means Castiel wants a private word, and given their argument half an hour prior, that can’t be a good thing.

He nods though, not really having much other option, and stands up to follow Cas into the kitchen. It’s when the Angel switches the coffee machine on, a whirring sound filling the air, that he sees the mask slip off.

“Look, Cas, I’m sorry about-”

“Don’t worry about it Dean.” Castiel interrupts, squeezing past him to grab two coffee mugs from the shelf behind them. “I just wanted to say that we should put this dilemma to the back of our minds for the course of the day, in order to ensure our cover is not blown in front of your family.”

Dean doesn’t say anything for a few moments, watching instead as Cas’s slim body moves under the black fabric of his t-shirt. It really looks good on him, he meant that.

“I didn’t mean to offend you Cas, I just…” He trails off, and he worries for a second that Cas might try to cut him off again, but he doesn’t. The Angel just looks up, momentarily, and there’s that same barely-there flash of hurt in his eyes Dean saw before. Cas turns back to the coffee, and Dean wonders how the hell he can explain this. “I just… there’s like this little voice in the back of my mind Cas, and it’s the voice of my Dad, and my grade school teachers, and everyone else I’ve ever screwed over.” Cas’s brow furrows, and he turns to Dean, a little confused obviously, but sensing this is important, and that’s a start.

“And you’re… well, look at you. You’re perfect, and beautiful and sweet and funny. Of course I was gonna want you, did from the second I saw you, hence me acting like an idiot on the plane.” Castiel gives a small smile at the memory, and Dean drinks it up, loving it because it’s _real._ He’s not smiling at a fake memory, one they cooked up together like co-conspirators – that memory was really theirs. “But…” He steps forwards, trying to get in Castiel’s line of sight. “That little voice Cas, it just tells me that there’s no way in hell you’d ever actually want me back. And it has some damn good arguments – I mean, you do do this for a living after all.”

“Perhaps I should have been clearer in my affections.” Castiel says, so quietly it’s practically a whisper. Dean realises Cas’s hand is on his forearm. “I like you very much Dean. Far more than I’m allowed, I fear.”

Dean smiles, because he’s pretty sure his heart just swelled up twice its size. “Likewise.”

And then he’s reaching out, tugging on that damned t-shirt and pulling him forwards again, but not for a stupid tickle fight this time. Cas’s lips find his eagerly, even though he has to stand on tiptoe because he’s barefoot, in just horrific pyjama pants and that baggy beautiful t-shirt that Dean is giving to him, packing _into_ the guy’s suitcase if he has to, because he will never be able to wear it himself again, not after he’s seen it on Cas.

Cas smiles against his lips, like this is the cause of his happiness, like _Dean_ is the cause for Christ’s sake, so he hugs Cas tighter, squeezing arms round his waist and pulling him in.

“Mornin.” Comes a gruff voice, breaking them apart, and they look up to see John, his expression unreadable, but perhaps a little surprised at the scene he just walked in on.

“Good morning, Mr Winchester. Did you sleep well?” Castiel asks politely, quickly grabbing another cup for Dean’s undeserving father like the priceless Angel he is.

John scoffs, shuffling a few steps further into the room and stretching a little. He looks a wreck really, stiff and sleep-rumpled, his clothes creased and his hair in disarray. He doesn’t look hungover though, Dean notices approvingly, giving his Dad the once over. He nods at him in greeting, still smiling a little because he’s still blissed out on that reconciliation kiss.

“What the hell do you think?” John answers, sounding bitter, though Dean suspects it’s not aimed towards Cas, and that’s a good thing. “Some lousy redneck thinks it’s okay to come into my house, take my damn bed, make me sleep in the den? How do you think I slept?”

He cricks his neck as if to emphasise his point and Castiel winces in sympathy, but hands over a steaming cup of coffee to John, so the oldest Winchester can’t really stay too mad. Dean refrains from saying that John spends most nights passed out in his chair in the den anyway, because that would only start a fight, and this morning has just become good again.

“The Campbells not up yet?” Dean asks, smiling at Cas for a good few seconds too long when he’s handed a cup too. John just shrugs, obviously not giving a damn, and clearly decides that he’s done his part being a friend to the LGBT society, turning to shuffle out of the room.

“At least he’s talking to us?” Castiel offers, and apparently he’s got the same problem about keeping the smile off his face right now. “Acknowledging us as a couple?”

Dean nods, watching intently as Castiel’s lips close around the rim of his coffee cup, taking a long sip. Cas’s throat contracting as he swallows does things to him, and he lifts his brow, mouth parting slightly.

“How are you feeling after last night? Any aches and pains?” He blurts, trying to steer the conversation towards greener territory, before quickly realising that could be interpreted in two ways. Now it’s Cas’s turn to quirk an eyebrow as he tilts his head, smirking at Dean, amused. “I mean! I mean- after all the drinking, a-and the club, not the- okay. I’m gonna go in here, dig myself a nice hole and jump into it.” Dean says, jerking a thumb towards the room behind him, where Sam and Jess are undoubtedly in the same position at the table where he left them.

He starts to back away, but Cas is grinning now, and he follows quickly, reaching out to clutch at Dean’s shirt. “Wait, but Dean, I haven’t told you about all my aches and pains!”

“Shut up.” Dean says, dodging out the way of his grabs as he jumps backwards, grinning back. Unfortunately, the kitchen isn’t the largest of areas, and so it’s moments before he’s back in the room with Sam and Jess, Cas running almost straight into him as he stops abruptly, still chuckling.

They both raise an eyebrow at the two of them, obviously amused at their antics. “God, how do you two have so much _energy_ after last night?” Sam asks, his voice still whiny and hungover.

Dean’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head, fury clouding his senses. “That’s it Samantha, if you mention it _one more time_ I’m gonna friggin skin you, I swear to God.”

“Dean!” Jess cries, throwing her arms around Sam protectively. “He obviously just means how are you so energised after the _bachelor party_ , right baby?”

“Right.” Sam confirms, but from his position, cocooned in Jess’s arms, Dean can see him grinning.

“I’m… a little confused.” Castiel says, his brow furrowed, and bless him, of course he is. Dean hopes he doesn’t become enlightened on this particular subject. Like ever. Talk about awkward, Jesus Christ Sam.

“Look, we can talk about it later, right now I need you two to get upstairs and get into some relatively sporty clothes.” Jess says seemingly out of nowhere, putting an abrupt end to the conversation, for which Dean is glad.

Sam lets out a little groan when he hears Jess say that though, and suddenly Dean is all kinds of nervous. Sam’s a pretty easy-going guy. Not much can ruffle his tail feathers – so what’s he so worried about? What does Jess have planned? Dean had mistakenly thought he might get this day off from wedding hoo-ha, but apparently no. Weddings are just one big endless party.

“…Why?” Dean asks hesitantly, and his fingers reach up to brush Cas’s elbow, just to reassure himself.

“Dance lesson!” Jess says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel should have known, it was going too well.

Of course, Dean expected the person that volunteered to drive over a day before the wedding in order to give a last minute top-up dance lesson to Sam and Jess to be a little odd. The two of them have been getting lessons from the dude for a few months now apparently, in preparation for their ‘first dance’ on the big day, because, as Jess had said, "Sam’s two left feet wouldn’t be so much of a problem if they weren’t Sasquatch-size".

The fact that their ‘teacher’ also had apparently no qualms when Jess had mentioned maybe getting Dean and Cas to join in for this last session, just so they’d know some basic steps for tomorrow sends some alarm bells ringing in Dean's brain. Seriously, what kind of self-respecting professional would agree to taking on an amateur couple a _day before_ the ceremony?

But in all honesty, Dean could not have prepared himself for the man who eventually rings the doorbell. His dark green tracksuit drowns his scrawny, bony frame, his hair flopping across his pale forehead as he grins widely, bouncing a little on the spot like he’s already having the time of his life.

“Heya Garth,” Sam says, grinning back fondly at the guy as he holds open the door.

Dean watches, eyes agog, as the guy on the step throws his hand out to Sam, slapping and twisting in what has to be the most cringeworthy impression of a cool-guy handshake Dean’s ever seen. What’s even worse is that Sam seems to know the handshake as well as he does, and Dean just shakes his head slowly, disbelieving. Could Sammy be any more of a dork?

‘Garth’ is a slip of a thing next to Sam of course, which makes the whole thing way more hilarious, and Dean looks over at Jess in wonder. She’s not really paying attention, having waved to Garth briefly and turned her back while he and Sam did their thing. She’s busy pushing the couches back – Christian and Mark having woken up about an hour ago, slinking off ‘into town’ with their parents and Gwen at long last – trying to create enough floor space for the five of them to practice in, as unfortunately Garth’s dance studio is over an hour away, and they just don’t have the time to get over there. Whatever, at least it got the majority of the unwelcome guests out of the house for a few hours, Dean thinks, save for John of course, who's back in the den, like he’d be anywhere else.

Garth strolls in properly then, looking about him and whistling in appreciation as he takes in the house interior. Dean puffs out a very little bit in pride; he knows for a fact that this living room was decorated by his Mom, and it hasn’t been changed since.

“Whew, swanky place you got here Sam.” Garth says in a voice that’s way too loud to be coming from such a small frame. Dean notices for the first time that he’s carrying an honest-to-god boombox under his arm.

Castiel has a faint smile on his face, Dean can see it out of the corner of his eye, and he shoots a glance down at him, sharing a look of pure amusement, because it’s undeniable – this guy is hilarious. Garth ceases his one-man tour of the living room and stops in front of them then, placing the boombox down on the rug at his feet and sticking out a cheery hand for Dean to shake. He hopes he isn’t expected to perform any spectacular moves the way Sam had.

“And you must be the big bro! Dean, is it?” Garth asks merrily, just as Dean gives his hand a perfunctory shake. He nods, smiling back as politely as he can, given that Garth is probably the most ridiculous guy he’s seen in a good while. He struts about like he’s a goddamn pimp or something, and that tracksuit, honest to God, Dean swears it’s made of _velour_. “Hmm,” he muses, one eye narrowing as he contemplates Dean’s face, “I thought you’d be taller.”

Dean rolls his eyes, because he’s damn well one to talk, and pulls his hand free at last. Garth moves over to Castiel, raking a look down his body, dressed in Dean’s old track pants from when he was in high school, and a grey t-shirt similar to the one he wears to bed – when he’s not wearing Dean’s t-shirt that is. He has an endless supply of those grey tees, apparently. Those, and the white dress shirts he wears every day. Garth eventually allows himself to trail back up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “And this, I’m guessing, is your dapper young-”

“Cas.” Dean interrupts, because who _knows_ what he was about to say. Castiel grins at Garth, inclining his head in greeting because Garth has apparently had enough of handshakes.

“Well I hope you’ve decided who’s leading between the two of you.” Garth says, and he gives them a mischievous wink before spinning on his heel, walking over to Sam and Jess with a sway of his hips.

And damn him, because of course no, they hadn’t discussed that at all. Well Dean hardly thought it would really be an issue! He wasn’t even planning on dancing at all at this wedding until Sam had batted those hungover puppy-dog eyes at him from his position at the table a couple of hours ago.

Luckily, Castiel is the bigger man in all this, and he leans towards Dean, his breath skimming the shell of his ear. “You can lead. It would make sense for it to be you after all, wouldn’t it?”

Dean blushes then, and actually splutters a little because he thinks he gets what Cas means, and it is in no way innocent if he does.

Earlier, after they’d been coerced into getting changed for this godforsaken ‘dance class’, Dean had taken Cas by the hand and promptly pulled him along until they were safely enclosed back in his bedroom - which was now completely free of any dollar bills scattered around thanks to Dean’s observant eye.

As soon as the door closed he’d pushed Castiel against it, the Angel’s shoulder blades slamming against the wood, and had kissed him, hard and torturously slow, finding his wrists and pinning them up by his shoulders as their tongues met. They didn’t have long, obviously, and they really did need to get changed, so they stripped off garments between kisses, punishing the other with nips and pecks if they stole glances at each other’s bared skin.

Dean couldn’t help it of course; Castiel’s smooth, slender torso was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity - plus he would defend himself to the grave that Cas shimmied those pyjama pants down his thighs _purposefully,_ because he’s a seductive son of a bitch, so how exactly was Dean supposed to help looking?

He was still punished though, Cas pushing him back on the bed and crawling on top of him, sending Dean’s heart rate up way past the average, nearly bursting from his chest when Cas leaned forwards, his pink tongue darting out to trace the thin, twirling lines of his tattoo. He was very accurate, making sure to trace every detail, and Dean could do nothing but squeeze his eyes shut and try to cope with the sensations it provoked. Cas seemed to get a little bored after a while, and his tongue was replaced with teeth. He sucked and bit at the stained skin until it was reddened and slightly raised, and Dean laughed, broken and hoarse around the feelings thrumming through him because he _fucking knew it._ Cas totally has a thing about tattoos, and maybe that one in particular.

Dean’s mind is brought back to the present at the sound of Garth’s tinny voice, unnaturally loud in the living room.

“Right, okay. We’ll begin with a basic waltz – Sam and Jess, you should pretty much know what you’re doing right? If you don’t by now… Sam, I really can’t help you. But never fear! You’ve come a long way my friend.” Sam just laughs at him, shaking his head and grinning as he stands before his fiancé. “Dean and Cas, let’s see what you got. If you need some help, I’ll show you the ropes.” Dean resists the urge to groan, because a waltz? Really? Not that he doesn’t know _how_ to Waltz of course- hold up, when exactly did his manhood fly out of the Booby Bus window? “Hey Sam-bo, where can I plugaroo this bad boy?”

Garth holds up the mains lead of his boombox and Dean decides to just look away, for fear he'll slap the damn thing out of the idjit’s hands. He’s into keeping the old ways of listening to music alive as much as the next guy, but everyone knows it’s only tools that carry boomboxes. Sam and he seem to get it set up pretty quickly though, and soon there’s a sickly sweet triple-time melody pouring out of its speakers.

Sam and Jess get into it immediately, their hands finding places on each other’s shoulders and waists as if they've always belonged there. Sam moves Jess like they’re skimming water for Christ’s sake. Watching them, seeing them move effortlessly as one, it’s more than a little unnerving; they look beautiful together. Just how a wedding couple should look. It Dean doesn’t stop himself now, he’s going to be hit with a realisation that _holy fuck my little Sammy’s getting married tomorrow,_ and so he looks away, finding himself met with two smiling blue eyes.  

Cas places a reassuring hand on his arm, smiling in amusement at Dean’s semi-emotional breakdown over the sight of his brother dancing.

“Put your hand on my waist, Dean.” Cas says, way too huskily for Dean to believe he’s not doing the sex-voice on purpose.

“Here?!” Dean exclaims, pretending to be scandalised, and Cas swats his arm, giving him an eye roll.

Eventually, because Dean is stubborn, the Angel sighs, and reaches for Dean’s hand, pulling it to his waist himself, and Dean is immediately stunned to silence again. He keeps forgetting exactly who this is in front of him. This isn’t just some conquest, or another meaningless guy he wants to fool around with for a while before parting ways – this is Castiel, as smart and supportive and good as he is utterly enticing. He’s perfect; certainly too good for Dean, and he needs to remember that, because he doesn’t have a lot of time left with this godlike creature. Soon Castiel will leave, fondness for Dean or not, and it’s best to enjoy it while he still can.

They start to move, Dean pulling Castiel backwards as he takes a step, leading him in what he’s half-guessing is time to the repetitive tune. He’s waltzed before, though he’d be reluctant to admit it, and so he’s not completely hopeless, but Castiel’s cobalt stare reduces him to a quivering mess in any situation, not excluding this one. Cas smiles up at him as Dean stumbles a little, and he feels strong hands, steadying his shoulders, keeping him on track as they continue the dance. Once again, Cas has caught him, before he fell, and Dean just smiles, his eyes crinkling as he stares at Cas, because he’s so lucky. Even to just have this for a little while.

When Dean looks over briefly, Garth is dancing in between the two couples, completely on his own, apparently not needing another partner, his arms wrapped around thin air as he sways, stepping – alarmingly gracefully – to the song. He catches Dean’s eye and grins, giving him a double thumbs up and gesturing at him and Cas’s movements. “That’s it! You got the hang, dudes! 1,2,3,1,2,3…”

Castiel grins again, and Dean immediately knows that the Angel is up for a little messing about, so he grins back, deciding to start off the game.

“Oh! But Garth, what’s the correct distance for me and my partner to be apart during this dance? I’d like the answer in milimetres, or even nanometres if you can. We wanna be precise about this.”

Garth’s eyebrows knit together at the question, and looks thoughtful, his one-person dance slowing a little as he contemplates what the answer would be.

Dean sees Sam giving him an amused-but-warning look, which he finds immediately hilarious. Especially as he’s currently being twirled like a ballerina by his wife-to-be.

“And what is the protocol on this kind of move?” Castiel pipes up, his head tilting quizzically. Dean really has no time at all to prepare himself for Cas pulling him sharply forwards – and really he needs to _stop_ doing that because it’s just a recipe for an insta-boner – and spinning him so fast he fears that on top of his hangover he might be in danger of recreating Adam’s vomiting actions yesterday. Then, before he can come to terms with that, Cas is actually _dipping_ him, one hand gripping him tightly around the waist, holding him securely inches off the ground, even as Dean braces himself for what he’s sure is an imminent fall.

“Woah,” Garth breathes as Castiel pulls Dean upright again, the Angel chuckling as though that was nothing at all, and he does it all the time. Dean feels like he just had a mini heart-attack. He’s also incredibly, unbelievably turned on.

When the two of them look around, Sam, Jess and Garth have all stopped their movements, breaking apart to look at Cas and Dean with shocked expressions, eyes wide. “You said it, Garth.” Sam utters, looking completely astounded at what he just witnessed.

Dean looks over at Castiel, feeling every bit as blown away by that move as the rest of them, but trying desperately not to let it show. He’s supposed to know everything about this guy after all. Cas’s dancing abilities wouldn’t be a shock to someone who’d known him for months.

“Where did you learn to dance like that, Cas?” Jess squeaks, staring at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world all of a sudden. Cas just shrugs, smiling in that enigmatic way of his, and turns to Dean, blushing a little at the attention. Dean pulls him in towards his chest because he can tell the poor guy wants to hide from the scrutiny, and it’s too tempting not to have him buried there, in the crook of his neck.

“That, and all other fancy moves you’ve got hidden under your hat are _welcome._ ” Garth states breathily, stalking over to clap Castiel on the back. “You should have my job!”

“Ah, no- no thank you.” Castiel replies, as politely as he can manage, and Dean has to hide his laughter.

* * *

 

The dance class lasts for much longer than Dean had expected, which is an unpleasant surprise. He’s exhausted and sweaty by the time Garth finally allows them to stop twirling about like idiots. The Campbell gang arrived back at the house long ago, and while Samuel and Deanna took one look at Garth and headed straight upstairs without a word, Christian, Mark and Gwen have chosen to set up camp on the pushed back sofas, to ‘observe’. It puts Dean off for a good few minutes, and he trips three times over Castiel’s perfectly-in-time feet, cursing aloud and apologising while his cousins snicker.

He all but loses it when Mark disappears for a few moments, returning with a large bowl of popcorn for the three of them to share while they watch.

But Castiel just squeezes his shoulder, forcing Dean to sink back into the depths of his blue eyes, and smiles, his face lit up from within, as though he’s truly happy, just dancing here with Dean, stupid and uncoordinated, with the couches pushed back.

Dean all but forgets the Campbells on the sofa after that, and he focuses on more important things, like the heat of Castiel’s gaze, or the slide of his hands over his shoulders, fingers brushing against the fine hairs on his neck. Dean twirls with him, the dance coming easily to him now, as if he were made to fall in step with Castiel, right here in his childhood living room. It doesn’t stop them bumping into the couch, or Garth or Sam or Jess every two seconds because this room is nowhere near big enough for them all, but it doesn’t matter, they just laugh every time, apologising dramatically when they bump into the couch for a third time, a little too hard perhaps, so that Christian accidentally spills some of the popcorn onto Gwen’s lap. They’re both laughing, lost in the music and the easy movement, and Dean’s eyes inevitably fall to the side of Cas’s throat again. Cas notices, rolling his eyes a little when Dean eyes the marks there and winks at him, an acknowledgement of the secret shared.

"I've invited Garth to the ceremony tomorrow," Sam cheerfully tells Dean at the end of the session, bounding over to his older brother, drenched in sweat and looking way too happy for someone who’s been forced to _dance_ for three months by his fiancé. That boy is head over heels for Jess, Dean thinks, smiling ruefully as Sam runs back over towards her, allowing her to pat him down with a towel.

Dean turns to Cas, who looks as unruffled as ever, if a little tired from all the exertion. Garth really knows how to work you out. Dean had particularly enjoyed the end of the dance class – the ‘freestyle’ part.

“Okiedokie, I think that’s everything.” Garth says, still cheerful as ever as he scoops up the boombox, lead and all into his skinny arms. Dean moves to help him, because surely he’s having trouble – the guy’s like a damn beanpole, and yeah, okay, the idjit has grown on him. But Garth waves him off, grinning. “I got it! I’ll see you gentlemen - and you of course m’lady -’ he gives Jess a small bow, which sends her off in giggles, “at the big shebang! Remember your lines guys; say it after me, ‘I do’.”

Sam and Jess laugh, but nod solemnly, promising they won’t screw it up, though they do refuse to say the actual line – something about superstition before the big day that Dean scoffs at immediately, pulling Cas towards him by the wrist because he’s too far away dammit.

Garth makes his exit, saluting as the door shuts behind him, and Sam turns to everyone else, trying to include Gwen and the others in his line of sight as well, because he is the host of this wedding after all.

“Anybody hungry?” He says, and Dean wants to hug his baby brother.

* * *

 

Their lunch-slash-dinner is initially intended to be a quiet affair, but everyone quickly realises that there are too many people in the house for that to be a reality. So instead, Sam hides a groan, buries himself in Jess’s hair for a few seconds, much to her amusement, and then re-emerges with a fixed smile, telling everyone to go get changed, he’ll cook something and it’ll be ready in about an hour.

Dean immediately insists that he will help, of course, but Sam is instantly adamant that is not happening.

“What? Why the hell not?!” Dean asks incredulously, noticing Christian sneering a grin from the corner of his eye.

“Dean, this is the first time you’ve taken any time off in months! And it’s only _four days._ You work crazy hours, don’t think I don’t know how little sleep you get. You’re not lifting a finger, I’m sorry, but this is my wedding, and you’re _my guest._ Now go take a damn shower.”

“Woah,” Dean mutters, raising his eyebrows at Cas and wincing, “touchy.”

Sam growls at him, stalking over to physically push them both towards the stairs. “I’m saying this for Cas too, I bet this is the first time you guys have had this much free time with each other in a while, huh?”

Dean splutters a laugh, he can’t help it, it’s so close to the truth. Cas smiles too, secretly, so that Sam can’t see. “Yes, it’s been… a while.” Cas confirms, and Sam shakes his head, as if he knew it all along.

“Get upstairs, go take showers, or hell, take the _same_ shower if you have to. Make it up to your boyfriend Dean, you’re neglecting him and it’s not fair. Come down in an hour.”

He walks away before giving Dean time to respond, leaving them both at the foot of the stairs. When he turns to look at Cas, he blushes, and dammit he thought he’d got past the blushing. “Our err… our shower’s kinda small…” He starts to say, the flush creeping down his neck now, and he lifts a hand to rub the back of his head, avoiding Cas’s eyes. It's a lie of course, but showering with Cas right now... although tempting, after all the drinking, the dancing, the awesome sex... it would probably just lead to him passing out, naked. And that would not be a fun thing to explain to a concerned Sam later on. Or John. He shudders at the idea.

He has no problem with  _morning_ joint showers though. In fact, he thinks, quirking a smile, that's a damn good idea. Maybe when they wake up tomorrow, just as everyone's flapping about, fretting about the wedding, he can sneak Cas into the bathroom, strip off that Motorhead tee, pull him under the warm spray...

“It’s okay Dean, we don’t have to do _everything_ your brother tells us you know.” Cas says, interrupting that very interesting little daydream, and saving Dean from the awkwardness. Cas is smiling that little amused smile again.

“…Whatever. You just wanna see me in a towel.” Dean replies quickly, winking.

He doesn’t see Castiel shaking his head fondly as he heads up the stairs.

* * *

 

It’s while Dean is in the shower that Castiel remembers he hasn’t seen his cellphone since last night. He’d removed all his clothes in a bit of a drunken stupor if he recalls, not even bothering to fold them before throwing them on top of his suitcase, which is unlike him. He must have been caught up in the anticipation, he thinks, his cheeks warming at the memory of waiting for Dean, his heart pounding nervously, terrified and excited in a way he’d only previously ever read about.

He rummages through the discarded clothes now, as he waits for Dean, finding his pants and checking the pockets. Sure enough the bulk of his phone sticks out, and Castiel pulls it free, finding it dead, having been left on all night and the majority of the day.

It takes a minute or so for Castiel to find his charger, then search for a socket in Dean’s room – he gets momentarily distracted by the picture of Dean’s mother resting against his lamp on the other bedside table – and plug his phone in. He taps his fingers impatiently until it jitters in his hand, lighting up and brightly telling him that he has 3 texts and 1 voicemail.

Strange, Castiel thinks, his brow furrowing a little. He’s not the most popular of people on the planet normally. The only people that usually text him are Anna – although she usually calls if she can – and Chuck, and that’s only if Castiel for some reason couldn’t access his emails.

He opens the first text with trepidation.

 **To: Castiel Novak**  
From: Anna Milton  
00:32am  
caaaaaaaasssssyy  
did u do the dirrrty  
with him yet??  
I bet he’s all kinds of  
hot 4 u 2.  
Hot stuff Cassy hot stuff  
get him drunk.  
Anna ahahah ;) xx

Castiel’s mouth hangs open. … _Anna?_ What on earth is going on back at home that Anna Milton has transformed into someone so vulgar? His best friend is not this sex-obsessed, incoherent texter. He flips to the next one, thoroughly weirded out, in the hopes the following message might shed some light.

 **To: Castiel Novak**  
From: Anna Milton  
00:45am  
u 2 shoud think about  
makin a tape of it  
dON't flip out itd make a  
FORTUNE and u know it  
cos I bet he’s cute.  
send me a copy yh?  
Annaaaa xx

It’s beyond weird. Castiel is certain that Anna must be delirious, or possibly being held at gunpoint, forced to type out these absurd messages for the amusement of a psychotic madman. His thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button by her name, intending to find out the meaning of this immediately, when he notices he has one more unread text, blinking at him from the corner of his screen.

He hesitates, debating whether to click it. In the end he decides that if Anna has managed to last this long, she can wait until he’s read one more text before he calls her.

 **To: Castiel Novak**  
From: Anna Milton  
08:20am  
Oh no. Castiel! Oh God, did  
you sleep with your client  
without charging him?  
Oh FRICK this is bad.  
Castiel tell me you didn’t,  
tell me you had enough sense!  
I’m so sorry, Gabriel stole my  
phone last night when we were…  
out. He was the one texting you,  
and HE told you to give in to  
your feelings.  
Castiel you could be fired for this!  
Say you didn’t, please say you  
didn’t oh no.  
I’m sorry again. I’m going to  
KILL Gabriel.  
Anna (the real Anna) x

Castiel’s mind is blank.

It makes sense. Perfect sense actually that it had been Gabriel. Of course it had, he should have realised it sooner really. He sighs, and closes his eyes. The further he drives himself into this situation with Dean, the more complicated everything is getting. So Anna isn’t even behind him anymore? He doesn’t even have the support of his best friend in this situation. Could it be that he is really making the world’s biggest mistake?

How come it doesn’t feel like he’s doing anything wrong?

Without opening his eyes, he dials voicemail, thumb finding the keys easily after having done it so many times.

 _“Message received at eight thirty-one AM on the fourteenth of April,”_ says the automated voice into his ear, and Castiel’s face is unmoving, though he does note that this was received after that last text message was sent.

“ _Castiel? It’s Anna, I-I- don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. Gabriel stole my phone, I was inebriated, I didn’t even realise until… I’m so sorry Castiel. Those texts… if you did what they said you could be fired, couldn’t you? Because of me! Oh gosh, Castiel I- I’m just…”_

Her soft voice breaks, and she starts sobbing, quietly, with little hiccups as though she can’t stop.

“ _You can’t leave me here Castiel, not in this awful place. I’m sorry if you don’t think I’m being supportive, because I know you have trouble finding anyone romantically, and in many ways I think it’s great that you've developed feelings for someone that are so strong that you can’t even be professional enough to… but Castiel, you are the only thing that keeps me out of the asylum working here. This place is crushing my soul, and if you aren’t here… I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m just, so terribly sorry Castiel. Please don’t leave.”_

The line goes dead, and Castiel’s face is one of shock. Did this mean that Anna maybe… _could_ be behind his decision with Dean after all? Perhaps, as she admitted in her tearful message, she was only reprimanding him for his actions in that text for selfish reasons, because she wanted him to stay at Heaven and Hell Escorts, and not to abandon her.

Oh dear, Castiel thinks, bringing a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose. This has all become so confusing. Anna’s involvement was what had spurred him to make the first move (outside of his duties as an Escort) with Dean, but her desire for him to stay with her, working at a place he’s slowly realising he detests, is not enough reason to push his feelings away. Especially not now, after all that’s happened with the man.

Castiel almost never thought he’d find himself agreeing with Gabriel, and while he’s still not _quite_ doing that, he has to admit, the guy has a very sunny outlook on life. And it seems to work out well for him. Funnily enough, following Gabriel’s advice might be the better alternative in this particular situation, and as Castiel is beginning to mind less and less about the ‘being fired’ aspect, he decides to do just that.

He'll come back for Anna. He'll find a way to help her too, no matter what happens.

The bedroom door opens then, and Dean walks in, a white towel tucked securely around his waist. He’s naked apart from that of course, his chest and hair dripping water onto the carpet as he stands in the doorway, smiling at Cas a little sheepishly.

Castiel swallows, his fingers slackening and dropping the phone he’s holding onto the bed. Dean grins at him, and Castiel just allows himself to relax, enjoy the view of miles of damp, golden skin, practically begging to be licked, touched, loved. Dean’s tattoo catches hold of his attention of course, and Castiel stares unashamedly now, his mouth going dry when he remembers how Dean had called him out on the slight thing he has about it.

“You wanna take a picture?” Dean asks him, closing the door and giving his hips a little wiggle, just to prove he knows Cas is enjoying the show. Castiel doesn’t let himself blush however, and just smirks at Dean.

“Why would I want a picture when I’ve got the real thing?” He asks in his best ‘innocent’ voice, standing from the bed to meander over to Dean. He lays two palms flat across the man’s bared stomach as soon as he’s close enough, smoothing upwards, over his rippling muscles until he hears Dean’s breath catch. His hand stops over the pounding he can feel – Dean’s thundering heart.

“No fair.” Dean intones, his voice barely above a murmur, and sounding a little breathless. Castiel smiles, one finger tracing the flames of Dean’s tattoo, dancing over the cross-hatch of the star held within. Dean’s breathing is near erratic now, Cas can hear it through the still air.

He feels damp arms winding around his middle, and he makes a noise, thinking about complaining that Dean is getting him all wet, but he looks up, straight into Dean’s eyes, and chokes on the words he’s about to say. Apparently he’d forgotten momentarily that Dean isn’t the only hopelessly infatuated one here.

He can see every one of Dean’s freckles, splayed like sun-splatters across his cheeks and nose as he leans in, his lips, still moist and dripping from the shower, edging towards him. He closes his eyes, because he has to – seeing the perfect, brilliant symmetry of Dean’s face up this close is near overwhelming, he’s actually a little concerned he’s going to faint in this man’s arms – and then those same lips are covering his, sparking nerves throughout his whole body, tasting like rainwater and the first bite of a crisp, cold apple.

“Mmm,” Castiel says, very coherent against Dean’s lips. Dean chuckles, pulling away, and Castiel is about to throw a fit because there is no way he’s gotten his fill yet, but Dean just laughs harder at his incredulous expression, and unwinds himself from Castiel.

“Gotta get changed man,” He says, shrugging, a grin plastered across his stupid, perfect face, “you want a shower? Better get in there before Sam does, he uses all the hot water on those princess locks of his.”

Castiel just scowls at him, knowing full well that this has got to be payback for being the first one to break up their tickle fight – tickle _attack,_ more like – earlier in the day. He turns to his bag though, sorting through various things until he finds his trusty blue towel, and steadfastly ignoring the chuckling, naked Dean Winchester behind him as he walks out of the door.

Well, at least he _tried_ to ignore him. He was naked, after all.

* * *

 

Things at lunch-slash-dinner the day before the wedding are surprisingly okay, considering the various feuds between the two sides of the family. Jess’s sisters come by just before the food is served, declaring that their parents are boring them to tears and that they want to discuss bridesmaid plans one last time.

Luckily there’s plenty of food for them too, as Sam made an enormous pot of some kind of stew thing, and Jess made loaves upon loaves of bread in the breadmaker she apparently insisted on bringing with her from home, because, as she explains to a patient young Angel – _“It just cuts hours off the baking time Cas! You have no idea! I don’t even have to get my fingers all doughy!”_

So spirits are high around the table, the Campbells keeping to themselves up their end, but still managing to look like they’re having a relatively good time, despite their hostility towards literally everyone else. Cas is stroking Dean’s thigh underneath the table, and Dean is pretending it’s not affecting him, but in reality he’s seeing stars in his bowl as he attempts to eat his meal. Cas’s fingers are like electric shocks, squeezing relentlessly as he converses with Jess and her sisters, acting for all the world as if he’s not doing anything at all.

Of course at around the half five mark, a few more guests pop in, starting with Bobby, looking extremely fatigued as he receives the final part of a lecture on how to properly care for his aura, from Missouri on his arm. He pulls out a chair for her, but quickly escapes after seeing she’s now in Sam’s capable hands. He sits the other side of Dean, grumbling something about not knowing why he puts up with all this loony crap, as he’s pretty sure he doesn’t _have_ a damn aura.

Dean just laughs at him, nudging him in the ribs and reminding him that, “you’re pretty into all that ‘loony crap’ yourself you know Bobby, don’t you think you and Missouri could get along? Share trade secrets?”

Bobby just scowls at him, but lets Dean ladle a hefty portion of delicious smelling stew into a bowl for him.

Adam and Kate turn up not long after, and Dean thinks it’s damn lucky that Sam had the foresight to know there would probably be more guests turning up, hence the ridiculously large, steaming pot in the centre of the table – but his little brother’s a genius, and he knew that already.

“Hey, Adam!” Dean greets cheerfully, and when Adam looks over, for a second there's a flash of guilt passing over his face. But he blinks, and it’s gone. “Done throwin’ up all over your Mom’s furniture yet?”

He grins at the kid, even more fond of him now that they have that shared memory together - that is if Adam even remembers any of it. Adam just groans in response, hiding his face – which still looks a little green – behind his splayed fingers. He really does look like Sam when he does that, Dean muses, laughing harder now.

Kate reaches up to place a comforting hand on Adam’s back, but he tenses, hands flying away from his face and he shrugs her off, near scowling. Ah, Dean thinks, raising his eyebrows at Castiel, still in a feud then. Adam stalks away from his mother, finding an empty seat near Sam and Jess, and Kate sighs, but meanders over to the table. She sits next to John, who is surveying the atmosphere as he chews on a slice of Jess's warm, sweet bread, and being strangely quiet actually, now that Dean thinks about it.

The tension of Adam and Kate’s mini standoff passes quickly however, and Sam dishes out more stew, so Dean forgets about it, letting himself be pulled into a conversation with Lauren, Jess, Abby and Adam about how he had first asked for Cas’s number.

* * *

 

It starts with Castiel saying he’ll get more wine from the kitchen.

He just has to give the impression of the perfect boyfriend, doesn’t he, Castiel thinks later, his fingers drilling into his temples. He couldn’t have just been happy that things were going so unusually well for once. He and Dean still had a whole day and a bit more to be with each other, content in the security of a confirmed mutual affection, before they had to go back to their real lives, and maybe part ways for good. If he’d thought about that before noticing the empty wine glasses around the table, he might have had the sense to be more careful about everything, stick by Dean's side instead of being the perfect escort, and maybe things would have turned out a lot better.

“I’ll get another bottle of wine.”

Dean just smiles at him gratefully as he makes the declaration, the man’s emerald eyes twinkling with something like fondness as Castiel stands, grabbing the empty green bottle from the centre of the table, and turning from the room.

The trouble was, he’d been too distracted during this whole job. Dean himself was one walking, talking distraction, pulling his focus every time he entered a room. He hadn’t been _paying attention_ like he normally does, to the family dynamics, and had missed all the furtive glances, the secrets whispered into certain member’s ears.

He’s been a fool, he realises.

As a result, he is completely unprepared to walk into the kitchen and find Adam, standing between Sam and John, his arms outstretched, palms splayed across each of their chests, as if he’s breaking up an imminent fight. All three of them had disappeared from the dining area some time ago, but separately, and it hadn’t been suspicious then. Or maybe it had, and Castiel was too caught up in the retelling of fake memories with Dean to notice. Sam and John are basically shouting, but their voices are whispers, to disguise the fact there is an argument here at all.

They don’t even notice Castiel, stopped in his tracks in the doorway, the empty wine bottle still clasped in his stunned fingers.

“No Dad! It’s enough now, this has gone on way, _way_ too long!” Sam is saying, and he’s totally furious, Castiel can tell, his hair swinging around his face wildly as he stares down at his shorter father. “Your stupid feud with Dean has made you _exclude_ him, from something you know damn well he should know about!”

“Sam, Dean’s lifestyle choice has nothing to do with the fact I’ve decided to keep him out of this-”

Sam just scoffs, raking a hand through his shaggy hair as he laughs off his father’s statement. “Bullshit, you make out that this is about _Mom_ , and Dean’s reaction to it _because_ of Mom, but it’s not! It’s about _Adam_ for Christ’s sake! Or have you decided to estrange him too?”

“Hey, I’m right here, y’know.” Adam says, his voice tiny compared to the muted shouts of the other men. The kid looks miles apart from the predatory, lust-blown teenager Castiel saw backing Chastity against a wall in a darkened club last night. He looks tired in fact, his eyes hollowed and dark.

Castiel is utterly stupefied. He would tilt his head right down until it rested on his shoulder if he didn’t think the movement would attract attention, because that’s how he puzzles through things, trying to gain a different angle on the situation, a new perspective.

What secret could the Winchesters share, to do with Dean, and Dean’s mother, that revolves around the boy who delivers pizzas to their house?

“I know you are, kiddo.” John assures the teenager, calmer now, and places a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “And Sam’s right, this is about you. But he knows damn well how badly it would crush Dean if he knew the truth. Nothin’s dearer to that boy than his Mommy.”

Sam grits his teeth, glaring at John, though the elder man isn’t looking. He’s staring at Adam, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “No Dad.” Sam whispers, loud enough that it’s deafening, even to Cas on the other side of the room, still unnoticed. John looks up at Sam as he speaks, his eyes wary at the contradiction. “You’re wrong. The important thing to Dean is _family._ His mother, his father, his _brother…_ and Cas obviously.”

Castiel’s heart surges a little when he hears Sam so easily referring to him as Dean’s family, as if he’d accepted the idea long ago, maybe when he shook Castiel’s hand that first time, even. That's just who Sam is - accepting, loyal, the perfect younger sibling for someone like Dean.

“And he deserves to know about every damn member of his family. _Every_ brother.” Sam finishes, staring John straight in the eye.

Castiel is confused at first as to why Sam is jabbing a finger at Adam, pointing him out to John, because it seems absurd. How does that action fit with Sam’s words, Castiel wonders briefly, his eyebrows so knitted together he can feel a headache approaching.

Then, all at once, he stops being dim, and the world around him explodes into clarity, just as the bottle he’s holding smashes to the floor.

Thousands of green shards, tracked by alarmed, frantic eyes ricochet across the linoleum, spreading in a wide arc, bouncing off walls and cupboards, so that they’ll undoubtedly be finding pieces still, even weeks later.

“Cas?” Sam asks, his voice mildly hysterical. Castiel brings his eyes up to meet Sam’s gaze head on, his mouth pressed into a tight line. There’s no way he can escape the knowledge now. No way to unlearn what he just has, and Sam knows, his face falling slack when he sees that Cas has heard.

“What now?” Adam whispers, sounding petrified, and nobody responds. The only sound is the crackle of glass under everyone’s feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to crank up the angst a bit, but I had to for my vision of this story to work. Don't kill me. Also, I'm really stressed about college work right now, so if tomorrow's chapter is a little late, that's my bad, I apologise in advance.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Hell breaks loose, basically.

Adam looks even paler and more haggard when he takes his seat back at the table, having returned from God knows where, and Dean regards him a little anxiously, studying the kid’s expression. He seems to look almost scared.

“Dude, you okay? You gonna hurl again? Shall I get you a trash can?” Dean asks, leaning across the table towards him, and pushing his empty bowl out of the way in the process. Adam just shakes his head vigorously, not meeting Dean’s eye, and Dean is about to press the matter, but at that moment, Sam and Cas enter the room.

It really is ridiculously stupid how the mere sight of Castiel can obliterate any previous trains of thought from Dean’s mind, but he can, and Dean can’t really do much about it. He grins up at the Angel, who immediately takes his seat next to Dean, looking a little distracted, but smiling back all the same. Dean’s smile wavers; Castiel is rarely focused on anything but the task at hand.

“You doin’ okay man?” Dean asks in a hushed tone, leaning into Castiel’s space now, and watching out of the corner of his eye as Sam sits down next to Jess, his gaze latching onto Adam’s once before quickly looking away. There’s definitely something going on between those two, Dean thinks, and then Castiel’s fingers are on his chin, tilting his face until their eyes meet.

“Perfect, now that I’m with you.” Castiel replies, in response to Dean’s question, and to his surprise, presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

It’s distracting, so distracting, and Dean could so easily fall into the soft warmth of Castiel’s kisses. He could just run his fingers up the creases of Castiel’s shirt sleeve, stroke the perfect stubble on his pointed chin and let all his troubles melt away. It’s just unfortunate really, that Dean isn’t stupid.

Something’s going on.

He can feel it, brewing under his skin, an enormous elephant sucking the air out of the room,  and he wonders why he hasn’t sensed it before this moment. Pulling away from Castiel’s lips, and dragging Cas’s hands from where they’ve fluttered to his face, holding him still, Dean immediately knows the answer to that question.

Over the course of their short time together, Castiel has swept him up in a flurry of emotion and tension, awakening things within him that he hasn’t felt for anyone in a long time. In the tsunami of feelings he’s overrun with every second he’s anywhere near the Angel, it’s no wonder he’s missed what’s really going on around him.

In fact, he _hasn’t_ missed it entirely, because Dean may not have been the smartest in his class, and he may not be a hot shot lawyer like Sammy, but eighteen years of watching John studiously to check if he’s drinking, or drunk, or about to pass out from being drunk have given Dean the beadiest eye in all of Kansas. He’s observant, and he’s seen the furtive looks shared between Adam and Sam. He’s noticed the expressions on their faces in regards to John and Kate’s hushed, flirtatious conversations. Sam dotes on the kid, more than he should, ruffling his hair, giving his hugs and grins; basically looking exceptionally like Dean did, particularly when he used to exchange those same scared little looks across the dinner table, with Sammy himself when he was just a boy.

Dean sucks in a breath, his mind partially censoring out the epiphany he’s sure he’s about to have, obviously fearful that he won’t like what he finds. He’s still staring into Castiel’s eyes, because their endless depths help him think, and for the first time, Dean notices the Angel looks nervous.

Now why would that be?

John strides back into the room then, coming from the kitchen, and he’s not even hiding the can of beer he’s got clutched in his sweaty fingers. Dean grits his teeth, his veins suddenly filling with rage, because what the hell is happening that's got his Dad so worked up he's drinking again? He'd been doing so well over the course of the weekend, and now, after popping to the kitchen for a few minutes he's back to square one?

So what, Dean’s not a part of this family now? Does he not deserve to be in on its secrets?

“Dad, put the fucking beer down!” Dean yells, and a silence falls over the gaggle of guests. Everyone at the table looks up, stunned, smiles falling from their lips, their excited conversations dying mid-sentence. Jess’s sisters look the most uncomfortable out of everyone, and Jess grabs their hands silently, obviously more used to this kind of Winchester family dispute than them. John glares at Dean, halfway to his seat, and a fierce staring match begins. John doesn’t let go of the can.

Sam gulps, so loudly it’s audible in the quiet, tense atmosphere. “Dean, sit down. Dad-”

“ _No_.” Dean practically shouts, cutting Sam off because he is damn well not going to stand for this crap. He was the one who kept this family together. Who dragged it through hell and out the other side when John was too drunk to deal with the threats of eviction or social care, hell, half the time it was Dean having to plead with Bobby to give him some work, so he could earn some cash, pay the thousands of bills John had long ago decided he couldn’t bother with. He deserves better treatment than this, he deserves to know what's going on, he _does._ It’s not okay for them to keep him in the dark.

Dean closes his eyes, breathing in and out steadily, ensuring his voice is calmer when he next speaks. “Someone is going to kindly tell me what the _fuck_ is going on. I suggest it be you Sammy, as you’re the person I’m least likely to want to kill after.”

Sam doesn’t say a word, instead pressing his mouth in a tight line. Dean’s eyes peel open and he looks over at his brother, just in time to see him darting a pleading look at John, as if begging to be allowed _permission_ to tell Dean what the deal is.

“Sam, don’t you dare.” John hisses, sensing that Sam’s about to break. Bobby is getting up out of his seat now, obviously on his way to try and calm John, but Kate gets there first, reaching a hand out, and placing it on John’s arm, a silent plea for him to sit down, to continue the pleasant dinner. “Dean cannot know about this. This is between you, me and… and…”

Dean balks, waiting for his father’s sentence to complete itself. And _who?_ How many more people know except his family for Christ’s sake? He wants to throw things suddenly, because it’s so obvious what this is about- John is excluding him, punishing him _again_ because he doesn’t approve of what Dean’s life has become.

“And _WHO,_ Dad?!” Sam suddenly asks, his question mirroring Dean's thoughts, and he jumps up so that he’s standing, sending his chair flying backwards a little way, until Jess catches it. She winces at the volume of the shouting going on around her, nervous eyes darting to her sisters' stunned faces, but she sets the chair right. Sam is locked eyes with John now, defiant and uncaring, and Dean can tell that it’s all about to come out. Sam has the same rebellious look in his eye as he did when he told Dad he was leaving to go to Stanford that rainy, awful evening, the very night before Dean packed his own bags.

Thirty seconds pass, and nobody moves, nobody even seems to breathe. Everyone at the table is transfixed on the three Winchester men, all standing, locked in a battle of wills that barely anyone understands.

Finally, Sam turns to Dean, clearly having had enough of the standoff, and he breathes a heavy sigh, his face grim. “Adam’s our brother.”

* * *

 

For several moments, Dean is too bewildered to respond.

Sam’s statement is so far out of the realm of what he’d been expecting that it throws him a little off course. He rocks unsteadily on his feet, swivelling to Adam, who is sitting, in his chair beside Sam, and looking extremely uncomfortable. His sea foam eyes are filled with a thousand apologies.

“He’s…” Dean starts to say, still staring at Adam, incredulous. He can’t wrap his head round this, what does Sam mean? Adam is the pizza boy! The kid from round the corner, and sure John pays special attention to him, tips him a little too much, ruffles his hair in a weird affectionate way… Oh God.

Dean can see it now, staring hard enough. The firm square jaw, present in all the Winchester men, tight now as Adam grits his teeth. His expressive, misty eyes, pleading with Dean across the table, sending Dean back ten years, when Sam would give him that same look, beg him to stay quiet in the face of Dad’s behaviour. The dirty blonde hair, his remarkable ability to switch on the charm, even in the face of such a rough situation. Dean sits down with a thump, running a hand across his face. “He’s… how?”

Dean’s voice is relatively calm, but anyone who heard it could have heard the turmoil of emotions storming within him, each one fighting for their place above the rest.

“Dad and Kate were… they had a thing.” Sam says, as if that explains everything. Dean doesn’t even look at him. He moves his gaze from Adam, staring at the table for a moment and pushing his chair back. He’s vaguely aware of Bobby next to him, reaching an arm out for some kind of comfort, but he flinches away.

“How long?” Dean asks, his voice a monotone because suddenly he’s sure he knows the answer, and that it’s going to fill him with a hatred some six miles deep.

“Longer than you can remember that’s for sure.” John says, the one voice Dean really doesn't need to hear right now, and he actually dares to chuckle. When Dean snaps his head up, John is sitting in his chair, a pink-cheeked Kate having pulled him down, and he's leaning idly back in is chair. The can is empty.

“Longer than I was _born_ then?!” Dean yells, infuriated by John’s casual insult; his attitude towards this whole thing is abhorrent. “While you were with Mom, is that it?!” He’s yelling, way too loudly he knows, but he can’t stand it, he feels like his whole world is falling in on him.

John doesn’t respond, he doesn’t need to, Dean already knows it’s true. He can see it in the guilt deep within Kate’s eyes, and it’s _sickening._ How can that woman, that _homewrecker_ dare to be in the same house she helped break apart with her conniving, cheating ways? And John, stupid fucking moron John, that took for granted the one good thing he had in his life, even before a fire ripped her away from them all forever.

The one thing, the only thing Dean had ever let soothe him when he thought about that terrible night all those years ago, was that Mary Winchester had died knowing her sons and her husband loved her unconditionally. And now, he doesn’t even have that to cling on to. His mom undoubtedly suspected about the affair, because what woman doesn’t, and John isn’t exactly discreet about his bad habits - Dean knows that all too well from the drinking.

And yes, maybe John felt a little sorry after, maybe he drank himself stupid every night, neglecting his kids and poisoning his body slowly, to numb the pain of mistreating his wife so badly before she died, but then- Dean almost wants to laugh, hysterical and disbelieving – he _continued_ to see Kate, and then had a fucking _son_ with her?!

Well that’s it.

Dean stands up, the force of it knocking his chair backwards and making the table jump in surprise. His face is murderous, he knows, and if anyone in this stupid, heartless, joke of a family even dares touch him right now, he’s going to punch someone.

He storms out of the room, not knowing where he’s going as everywhere in this house reminds him of his mom. This is _her_ house, she’s his mother, and he can feel tears in his eyes because he feels like he’s failed her. How could none of them tell him? Sammy? How could Sammy not tell him this, when he knew how their mom had been treated?

He slams the front door closed after him, realising he’s marched straight out of the house, and he sits down on the porch steps, just trying to breathe. His thoughts are a flock of angry, squawking birds in his mind, battering against the sides of his skull, not settling, not letting him make any sense of what he’s just heard.

He doesn't have to wait long before footsteps approach. They're the other side of the door, but it's still too close, and it will be mere moments till they discover his hiding spot.

Dean wants to groan, wants to curl up in a ball until they all leave him alone, but the front door opens, merciless, and they’re all standing there, worried as hell. Sam, Adam, Jess, Bobby, even Missouri has a troubled frown, tears clouding her big brown eyes…

He stands, feeling too vulnerable sitting below them all, and faces the multiple staring eyes. God knows what happened to the Campbells, Dean thinks idly, because ironically enough, he'd rather be looking at any one of them right now. None of them could have had any idea about this huge mess. They're probably as disgusted with John as Dean is, hating him even more now that they have proof he treated Mary like crap.

“Dean, I-”

“Save it Sam. You _knew_. You kept it from me, like a damn pre-schooler! How could you?!" He's getting too loud again, and he stops before he works himself up too much. His voice quietens, and he looks slightly to the right of his brother. "I highly suggest you stay away from me for a while.”

Dean’s about to turn from them, but the sight of someone pushing through the huddle in the doorway stops him, and he exhales, practically in tears, as Cas moves towards him, crossing the wooden porch in no time at all, and then Dean is being wrapped in a warm, secure embrace. He holds on for dear life. Cas smells like freshly laundered sheets, and mowed grass on a summer's day. It's so beautiful Dean wants to cry, probably will later, he thinks, when they're alone again, as Cas holds him, stroking his hair. Cas is the only one he can count on now after all, or so it would seem.

“I can’t believe you told him!” Sam cries suddenly, and Dean freezes, going rigid in Cas's arms. He lifts his face from where it’s buried in the crook of Cas’s neck and shoulder, soft black hairs brushing against his cheek as he takes in his little brother’s tear-filled eyes.

Sam is looking directly at Castiel.

It’s about then that Dean’s stomach does a violent twist. He feels bile rising in his throat, and he loosens his grip on Cas before he even truly understands the words tumbling from Sam’s lips. When he leans back, Cas still clinging on to him desperately, a similar, pleading expression in his eyes to the one Adam wears, as though begging him not to listen. That's when he understands.

So Cas knew too.

His damn pretend hired boyfriend knew he had a brother before he himself did. He knew that his father had cheated on his mother with a woman from the local hospital. He knew that, and he still tried to cover it up, tried to distract from finding out Dean back at the table, by _kissing_ him. If he'd done it then, who knows what else he's been lying about all the other times they've kissed, and held hands, and hugged, and... Fuck. For crying out loud, does he never get a break in this world? Can’t he have one nice thing? Even for _four measly days_?

Dean pulls out of Cas’s hold, his brimming eyes spilling over as he realises the extent of this betrayal.

“You too, huh?” Dean whispers, and Cas’s expression is so pained, Dean might actually be inclined to believe it’s real. Or rather, he would, if Cas didn’t lie for a living.

Dean runs then, before anyone can say anything more, just turning and fleeing from the scene, pumping his legs as hard as he can until he’s panting, his shirt cuffs chafing his wrists, the cold wind like needles against his face. But he's far away, and he can pretend this won’t be what he has to return to.

* * *

 

He’s in the middle of friggin nowhere when Cas finally, _finally_ catches up. He’s been wandering for at least an hour now, taking the footpaths round the outskirts of town, into some woodland, and wallowing in the knowledge that's just been hurled at him, taking his anger out on the nature around him, so undeserving, so unresponsive as he chucks rocks, stones, twigs and whatever else he can find at trees and stumps. Even at the ground.

It started to rain about ten minutes ago. Fitting, Dean thinks as he feels the water pelting his clothes, peppering his shirt with tiny water marks, and a humourless laugh escapes his shaking lips.

“Dean!”

The shout comes from somewhere behind him, echoing through the concave of trees arching overhead. It's getting late, Dean realises with surprise, and the sun is dipping, desaturating the air around them, making everything a greyish monotone. Dean wants to run again when he knows he’s been found, but he’s friggin tired, and he really just wants to fall over. Maybe in that soft lump of bracken over there, that'd be an interesting place to spend the night. It would certainly match his current mood.

It doesn’t take long for Cas to jog over to where he is, leaned against the peeling bark of a silver birch, gazing up at the falling droplets from the sky. He wishes he had a cigarette, just because it would probably calm him down, relax him a little. He doesn’t smoke though, so maybe it wouldn’t work at all. Maybe he’ll never be calm again, seeing as this is his life now, and he has no one in his corner. Not even Sammy.

A tear slips down his cheek, but luckily for him, it could easily be mistaken for rain.

“Dean, thank god, I was looking everywhere-”

“You knew.” Dean spits out, hating himself for how much his voice wavers, a result of the treacherous tears leaking down his face. He can’t look at Cas, not yet, he doesn’t want to be reminded of how he fell for those stupid blue eyes. And how they betrayed him. “You _knew_ and you didn’t tell me.”

“What did you expect me to say?” Castiel asks, his voice soft over the pitter patter of rain on the rubbery leaves. He’s standing directly in front of Dean now, and it’s too hard, obscenely hard not to look, not to drink him in when he’s right there. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to picture all of the times Cas smiled at him, looked like he’d found everything he’d been looking for, right there in Dean’s idiotic smile.

“I guess I should have expected it, huh?” Dean says, breaking the long pause, and he’s coating each word with venom, because he wants Cas to hurt too. This is in no way fair, he gets to unload some of his pain, he's allowed. His eyes fly open, narrowing at the sight of a rain-soaked Angel, looking for all the world like he meant no harm. “Because that’s what you do isn't it? You’re a _liar._ ”

Castiel’s eyes darken then, and a very small part of Dean wants to shout in victory, because he knows he hit a sore spot there. He knows because he did it before, with the money after last night. Castiel doesn't like to be treated as if he's just his job, so in order to push him away, right now, that's what Dean's going to have to do. 

"I'm an escort. I help people when they're vulnerable. I only lie when they need me to-"

"Bullshit!" Dean cries out, and his self-loathing is at an all time high as the words he knows he needs to say, the ones that will get Castiel to hate him fully, fly into his mind. "You're a hooker, Cas! You get paid for the lie, you get off on it, you-"

“Oh, right." Castiel grits out. He's not shouting, but it's clear, from the pure pain that flashes across his face that Dean has succeeded in his attempt to hit Castiel where it hurts. "Go ahead Dean, go ahead and judge me after you _hired_ a boyfriend to pretend to your family that you’re hopelessly in love. We’re both liars! How can you stand there and accuse me of doing anything you haven't done yourself? You're a hypocrite, Dean.”

Dean laughs, loud and hollow, sending burds fluttering out of trees. “You know what? You’re right!" The rain has pretty much soaked him through now, and he's starting to shiver a little. He feels his lip tremble as he looks at Castiel, possibly for the last time, he knows. "I’m so damn insecure that I spent six _thousand_ dollars on a lie, and in the end, the only one who ended up falling for it was me!" Castiel sucks in a breath, but Dean doesn't respond. "I’m a fucking idiot. I’ll leave your money on the dresser. That’s how it’s done in your world right?”

Before Castiel can respond, Dean is stalking away, his shoulders colliding with the trees as he pushes through.

* * *

 

For a long time, Dean doesn’t know what to do next. His mind wrestles with itself, weighing and deliberating the few options open to him now that everything has happened. He could go home, back to Detroit, hitch a ride to the airport, squeeze his eyes shut during the entire plane ride back, hoping to God he doesn’t have to make use of his sick bag and then…

Then what?

He’d be back in his tiny apartment, a whole day to himself, sitting in his cold, unfriendly room while he thinks about how he should be at his baby brother’s wedding. No, he decides. That option is out.

Lying, backstabbing bastard or not, Sam is still the most important thing to him in the world. He can’t miss this wedding, he couldn't do that to Sam, or to Jess, because one day, somewhere in the distant future he'll probably forgive his brother completely for this, and then how would he feel, looking back as the guilt consumed him, if he didn’t attend tomorrow?

One thing he knows he can’t do under any circumstances is stay at the house. Not now, when he’ll undoubtedly have people barging in every three seconds, apologising and trying to explain when he just wants to be alone. Not to mention dealing with Cas – even though Dean’s sure he made it clear that he no longer requires the services of an escort, Cas will have to go back and collect his belongings, not to mention the money, which Dean is sure he’s very concerned about right now. And he feels his heart  _ache_ when he contemplates the idea of seeing Cas again before he leaves, the words that just passed between them imprinted in each of their minds forever.

He called Cas a hooker. That's something he'll never forgive himself for, no matter how worked up he'd been at the time.

So, making a decision at last, Dean decides to head back to the house, speeding up a little because he wants to get there before Cas returns. He’ll grab his bag, his phone and charger, ignore Sam and Jess and Adam and whoever else pounces on him as he walks through the door, and leave six thousand dollars on the dresser for the giant, expensive mistake he still can't quite bring himself to regret making just yet. Castiel Novak really has him in a cupid's chokehold, or so it would seem. Hell, maybe that's what the guy does with all his clients - tells them he 'likes them too much', watches them fall in love with him. 

Cas may be fond of Dean, but who knows in truth how deep that fondness goes? Cas is a professional, and anything he said could have been a show.

The sheer duplicity of the one gesture at the dinner table earlier, kissing Dean to distract him while Sam and Adam exchanged glances, it had opened Dean’s eyes. Cas had been nervous then, because he'd known the big secret, and it was only Dean’s observant eye that stopped him from being caught up in the cover-up.

Blinking away hot, angry tears, because he damn well _let_ himself be fooled by this beautiful liar, and there’s no one else to blame, he makes his way up the porch steps.

Easy, Dean murmurs in his mind, breathing slowly as his fists curl, terrified of what lies inside, just get in and get out, do it quick, before the Angel returns. Then you can sort everything out from there. 

Swallowing dryly, he opens the door.

* * *

 

“Dean, if you’d just _listen-”_

“Sam, no! Dammit, you _know_ this is not okay. You must, or you wouldn’t have been so scared to tell me!” Dean isn’t looking at Sam, he’s focusing instead on the task at hand, throwing items of clothing into his bag, not even bothering to look at what they are. He needs to get out, soon, before Cas comes back, because he just doesn’t want to face him again.

Sam’s been holding it together well so far, but when Dean glances up, reaching across the bed to grab a sock that he’s pretty sure is his and not Cas’s, he sees tears tracking Sam’s cheeks. His heart plummets, and a thousand big brotherly instincts surface, as they always do, wanting to wrap him up, to swear revenge on whoever hurt him, to tell him it’s all okay.

He squashes them down, remembering with sickening clarity the huddled over figures of Kate and John, and Adam’s scared, frantic eyes. And everyone knew, Dean thinks, disgusted. 

“Sam, stop.” Dean says, his voice sounding tired as he zips up the bag. “I’m going to a motel. I’ll be there tomorrow, and don’t worry, I’ll play nice. I’ll smile, I’ll say all the right things and we’ll deal with this, deal with it _together,_ when we’re ready. But right now Sammy,” he slings his bag onto his shoulder, looking his brother straight in the eye, “I’m not gonna pretend it’s okay.”

Sam’s face crumples a little, and it’s hard to watch. Dean feels himself breaking, feels his fingers start to reach for Sam, but he notices the minute nod coming from behind curtains of stupidly long hair. He nods back, both of them understanding, and starts to move towards the door, stopping in front of the dresser to place a brown envelope -  stuffed with dollar bills that Sam can't see - on top.

A crumpled bit of black material catches Dean's eye, over on Cas's side of the bed, poking out from beneath the covers. He frowns at it, moving away from the dresser, conscious of Sam's eyes tracking his movements, and goes to pull it out. It's his Motorhead t-shirt. 

He holds it, frozen in mid-air with his right hand, his heart hammering as he looks at the familar design. He's tempted to bury his face in it, to breathe in what he knows will be the scent of Cas, just as he had been this morning, when everything had seemed full of hope. Back when he'd been ignorant of everything, Dean reminds himself, placing the t-shirt back on the bed, smoothing his fingers over it once. 

He can't take it. He already told himself he'd never be able to wear it again now that he's seen Cas in it. Nothing's changed about that. If Cas wants it, he can pack it in his suitcase, keep it as a memento of the guy who's heart he broke in just three short days. 

“Is Cas gonna be there?” Sam whispers into the silent room, and Dean freezes, his fingers still resting on the soft fabric.

There’s a thousand and one things he could say, he could explain right now that Cas had never been _real,_ not really, not in the way everyone, including Dean had thought. But for some reason, it doesn’t seem important, not in the grand scheme of things. Sammy had asked Dean to be happy, to find someone and bring him here so that he _could_ be happy, and Dean had done that. Sam had been contended, Dean had succeeded in his task, and even if it only lasted a little while, that’s gotta be worth something.

So he doesn’t tell him. Let Sam think Dean was blissfully in love for a short while. Hell, maybe that’d get Sam off his back in future with regards to relationships.

“No.” Dean replies, softly so that Sam won’t be hurt by it, and then he walks out of the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have several apologies.   
> First, sorry for not posting yesterday, I had a very bad day, I'll just leave it at that.  
> Second, sorry this chapter is late, but I really detest the idea of posting anything unless it's been thoroughly edited and proof-read, plus I've been out all day.  
> Third, sorry this is so angsty, and if you need reassurance, allow me to reassure you that the angst will end, soon. 
> 
> Thank you so much, all of you, your reviews, kudoses and comments mean the world to me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the aftermath.

In hindsight, Castiel should have known that chasing Dean out into the middle of the woods in the early evening, without his phone or any knowledge of the area, was a bad idea. But as is ever the case with Dean, he hadn’t exactly been in his most rational state of mind at the time, and the thought of getting home after the imminent fight barely even crossed his mind.

As a result, it’s several hours later that Castiel finally finds himself outside the Winchesters’ front door, shivering and soaked, his shirt plastered to his skin. The only up side he can think of is that Dean might have had the foresight to move his stuff downstairs by now, making a quick getaway that much easier, as Dean surely won’t want to face him again.

Their final fight had been a blowout, cataclysmic and heated enough to make a satisfactory ending for their stormy, fast, passionate little not-quite affair. Castiel sighs, remembering Dean’s words, the derogatory way in which he’d described his profession. Castiel had been right to not seek out romance in his line of work previously; sure, people might say they didn’t mind it at first, but the idea of having an escort as a partner inevitably gets to them.

He trudges up the stairs, realising he has no idea of the time, though judging by the starry, black velvet sky, it’s pretty late. He’ll probably have to catch a red eye, maybe sleep in the airport to wait for a plane back to Detroit. He noticed the sun setting earlier, the daylight being slowly enveloped by the dark wisps of nightfall, and as it did so, a beautiful shimmering scarlet sunset shone through the clouds. Castiel had allowed a smile to break through his slightly tearful expression at the sight; red sky at night – Jess might just get her dream wedding day after all.

It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it. And now, judging by the late hour, he probably won’t even get the chance to say goodbye to her. Perhaps they’ll meet again one day, Castiel muses, having grown especially fond of Jess, with her bright, easy smile, her golden halo of ringlets framing her round face.

He pushes open the door, intending to creep in silently, for fear of waking the household, but to his surprise, most of the lights are still on downstairs, and he can hear low voices from a different room. The door shuts behind him, making a click sound that he can’t hope to disguise now, and he winces, hoping to God that one of those voices doesn’t belong to Dean.

All of a sudden, at least four pairs of footsteps are walking towards him, managing to sound anxious just from the way their shoes smack against the wooden floor.

“Castiel!” Jess cries, being the first one to round the corner and spot him sneaking in, and she throws her arms around his neck, apparently not caring that he’s still completely soaked. “I’m so glad you’re alright!”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He’s quite genuinely at a loss, perhaps for the first time in his career, because he honestly doesn’t need to pretend anymore in front of this woman. He can treat her how he likes now, as he’s effectively been fired. He could push her away harshly, shout at her, take his anger out on her for the destruction of his relationship with Dean. But he doesn’t want to do any of those things.

The thing is with this particular job, Castiel thinks sadly, is that he hasn’t really had to do much pretending at all.

It’s ironic really, that Dean seems to think he’s been lying about everything, right from the very start. Instead of anything else, he hugs Jess to him, pulling her close and letting himself feel the love emanating from her soft, perfumed frame.

“Are you alright, Cas?” A small voice asks, and Castiel breaks apart from Jess, realising that no matter how bad he feels, he can’t just linger in the arms of a woman who is about to get married tomorrow. It’s Sam who has spoken, standing near the foot of the stairs with Adam, and Bobby who is frowning hard at his surprisingly modern-looking phone, pressing the buttons with alarming force, and muttering obscenities.

Castiel nods, knowing full well how to put on a front. He’s had a lot of training. He just needs to get out of here now; it’s nice that he got to see Sam and Jess again before he left though. They really will make a beautiful couple, he thinks. “I’m quite alright, Sam. Thank you for your concern. I-I suppose my bags are still in my room?”

Sam nods, looking confused at Castiel’s question, as if asking where else they would be, and Castiel just nods back at him, chewing his lip. That was the answer he’d been afraid of.

“I see. Well, I’ll just retrieve them – hopefully Dean won’t be too confrontational – and then I’ll get out of your hair, you surely need a good night’s rest, what with tomorrow being-”

“Wait, hold up, what?” Sam is asking, and he looks almost irritated at Cas’s words. Castiel stops speaking, almost out of habit, used to being told what to do by his clients and complying without question, as they hold the money. “Cas, first of all, where the hell are you gonna go _now?_ Are you crazy? You can stay here, Dean left a while ago. Went to check into a motel or something. If you still wanna go in the morning… I guess that’s your decision, but I’m not letting you back out into the world while you’re wet and cold and upset from my brother’s stupidity.”

Jess nods emphatically, crossing over to her fiancé and threading an arm round his waist, hammering the point home that between the two of them, they are an unstoppable force. Castiel is staying here tonight, or so it would seem.

It hardly seems fair, sleeping in Dean’s bed while he tosses and turns in a crummy motel mattress, but he’s so tired, he feels like he could fall asleep on that bottom stair and be perfectly happy for the whole night. Eventually, he acquiesces, telling himself he’ll rise early tomorrow, get the first flight out if he can.

Sam and Jess smile at him, and Cas tries to shoot Adam a sympathetic smile too, but the kid just looks distraught. He’s clearly taking the brunt of this fiasco onto his shoulders for no good reason, Castiel thinks. A true Winchester man at heart then, no denying it.

“I’ll go upstairs then and-” A yawn escapes Castiel’s mouth without his permission, making everyone present chuckle warmly, and for a moment, the tension of the day’s events is forgotten, “-pack.” He finishes sheepishly, smiling at the four of them before turning to head up the stairs.

* * *

 

He’d almost believed that he might get the miraculously wonderful offer of a soft, warm night’s sleep free in Dean’s bed, without the ‘talking-to’ from a member of his family. Why he believed that, he has no idea.

In fact, he gets two members, knocking softly on his door, just as he’s peeling back the covers to slip in, his pyjamas on. When Sam and Jess enter, smiling a little sadly, neither of them say anything about the fact Castiel is wearing Dean’s Motorhead t-shirt.

And, when he saw it, laid out for him on the bed, Castiel also pretended two tears didn’t fall out of his eyes.

“Hey,” Jess says softly, coming to sit cross-legged on the bed, and so Castiel joins her. Sam sits too, though it takes him a little longer to arrange his long gangly limbs around Jess, eventually settling her back against his chest as he slips two arms around her waist.

“Hello, Sam, Jess.”

Castiel plumps the pillow behind him, smiling at their casual intimacy, the way Sam rests his head on Jess’s shoulder, like a puppy dog, looking up at Cas with big, round eyes.

“Okay Castiel, I’m gonna do this quick. Like a band-aid, because it’s not my place to tell you how to run your life, not by a long shot, but me and Sam were talking, and we agreed we couldn’t just sit back, knowing we did nothing while you guys threw this all away.” Jess is talking quickly, partly because of nerves, and partly because of exhaustion, Cas suspects, and he smiles sympathetically at her, reaching out to place a hand on her knee.

“It’s alright Jess, I won’t get angry.” Castiel replies, in a soothing voice. “Although I doubt anything you have to say will help change-”

“Well just let us try.” Jess says, because she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t see that there’s no hope, there never had been really, because Castiel doesn’t count as a real potential partner. Maybe for a very brief moment in Dean’s eyes he did, but that’s gone now, and Dean just sees him as a phony, defined by his career. He smiles anyway, and nods for her to proceed; the quicker she gets it off her chest, the quicker Castiel can sleep, and be out of this place.

“Dean… Dean is a stubborn _ass_.” Jess says after floundering for a couple of seconds, obviously having difficulty finding the words. Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up at the unexpected slur, and Sam splutters a laugh into her shoulder, resting his hands on her upper arms.

“Okay babe, maybe I should try?” He asks gently, and she rolls her eyes, but leans back into him, an obvious surrender. Still smiling faintly, Sam turns his attention back towards Castiel. “What Jess means is that Dean _hates_ being lied to. It’s like the thing he detests most in the world, and when it’s people close to him that are keeping secrets, it hits him hard.”

Castiel contemplates this despite himself, knowing full well he should just be shrugging off Sam’s explanation, but he can’t help it. He cares for Dean, too deeply, and it’s useless trying to fight the urge to fix everything.

“Our Mom… I never knew her, so I think it’s different for me, but Dean did know her, he remembers her, and somehow he finds a way to blame himself for her death on top of everything else, because that’s the kind of guy he is.” Sam sighs, and Castiel can see that Dean’s self-deprecation is something that’s been affecting Sam for some time. “He can’t bear anyone tarnishing her memory – that’s why he hates our grandfather so much, because he’s a representation of her background, and he blames Dean for her death too, in part.”

“Finding out about that affair must have killed him.” Jess almost whispers, her voice sounding broken. There are tears in her eyes, and Cas’s heart lurches.

“He took it out on you Cas, because that’s how he deals, lashing out at the people closest to him, pushing them away because he feels like he’s not good enough.” Sam finishes, and his eyes are almost pleading now, begging Castiel to mend the broken tatters of his and Dean’s fake relationship, because he wants so badly for his brother to find the happiness he deserves.

Sam opens his mouth, as if he’s about to continue, and Cas holds up a hand, because he already knows what the younger Winchester is about to say. Now will come the punchline, where he tells Cas to buck up, go chase after his man because they’re meant to be, but of course Castiel knows this can’t happen. Dean no longer wants him, not because he’s projecting his anger onto someone he really actually likes, but because Castiel is an escort, just an actor in his eyes. So really this is all just heartbreakingly futile.

“Thank you Sam. You have given me much to think about.” Castiel says, and the finality in his voice makes any hope in Sam’s expression drop clean off. “Unfortunately, there are complications in Dean and I’s relationship that transcend what happened here today. If Dean wishes to tell you about that, I will let him do so, in his own time.” Jess darts an urgent, fearful look at Sam, seeming to realise that this could be the end of it all. “I have already rung up to enquire about the earliest flight back to Detroit tomorrow, and I will be on it. Perhaps one day, Dean and I will meet again. We do live in the same city after all. Thank you for your kindness, I wish you both a lifetime of happiness together.”

The first pang of regret comes when he sees a tear slip down Jess’s cheek. “Cas please… just, _promise_ me that you’ll think about what we said, okay?” She takes Castiel’s hand, pulling out of Sam’s grasp to do so, and forces him to look in her watery eyes. Castiel hesitates, but nods, patting the top of her hand. “He loves you, you’d have to be blind not to see that. The way he smiles at you… it’s like he falls in love with you all over again, every time you meet his eyes.”

He’s not ashamed to say he chokes up a bit at that, and he bows his head, hiding the sting of tears in his eyes. How on earth has this happened? He’s managed to fall in love with a man he barely knows, in the space of three days. That’s not just unusual, that’s something he would have believed entirely impossible were he not experiencing it himself.

He breathes in deeply, and releases Jess’s hand, smiling a little to reassure her. “I will think about it. I promise.” And for some reason, he means it, though what good thinking about it will do, he’s not entirely sure.

Sam seems to brighten a little though at his words, and Castiel smiles at him. Jess grabs his hand, kissing it fervently, demonstrating her affection before heaving herself off the bed, dragging Sam along behind her.

“Can we sleep now?” Sam whines as he’s pulled towards the door, and Castiel chuckles. They do need to sleep, he thinks. Tomorrow will undoubtedly be the most memorable day of their entire lives. It’s such a shame, Castiel thinks as he lays his head against Dean’s pillow - having swapped them because he’s comforted by the smell - that he won’t be there to see it.

* * *

 

Bobby is on a mission. Well, for him it’s a mission, as this darned new-fangled technology that the youth of today seem to work so easily is, to him, like hurdling a mountain. He sighs, exasperated, as the auto-correct on his phone changes the word ‘idjit’ to ‘I’d hit’ for the third time. Although he certainly _would_ hit Dean right about now, the very same idjit who is refusing to answer his texts. And Bobby Singer doesn’t break out his texting skills for just anybody.

That darn fool had gone and stormed out earlier, stubborn as hell like always, and refusing to listen to anybody, except eventually Sam, who’d had to corner him in his bedroom. And even then, he’d still gone and stayed at a darn motel for the night, instead of dealing with his feelings like a normal person.

All because of John’s stupidity, his womanising, alcoholic, child-abusing ways. Sure he’d never beaten the kids (any _three_ of them), but with his neglect and verbal abuse, he’d done as good as. And Dean had always gotten the worst of it, being the one who knew the most about John’s bad habits, and therefore being the one John despised the most.

Bobby Singer was no fool – he wasn’t friends with John Winchester because he liked to sit for hours on a couch beside him, watching a game he’d seen before while the guy drank himself to death. He was there to keep an eye on the man, to keep things from bubbling over when he got too aggressive with his only sons.

It's no surprise really, that Dean has become the self-loathing, beaten down guy that he is, and really Bobby thinks it’s a miracle that he turned out so _well._ But this… this is the stupidest thing Dean’s done yet. Castiel Novak, the young man that had practically knocked Bobby out with surprise when they first met, was undoubtedly the greatest miracle on God’s green earth for Dean Winchester. When Dean was with Castiel, he was _happy,_  euphoric even,and it wasn’t an act, it was as real as anything, Bobby could see it a mile off.

The way they stared at each other, the love practically drowning the whole damn room, it was kind of sickening in a way. But at the same time, Bobby wanted to fall to the floor at the guy’s feet, thank him profusely, and wrap him in a well-deserved hug for giving Dean faith again. Faith that good things _do_ happen. That young lad is solid gold proof that sometimes life shovels you a pile of crap, and sometimes, you get a damn Angel out of it all.

So he’s going to keep texting Dean, telling him to get his ass back to this house before it’s too late, or Bobby will kick it for him when he does eventually crawl back, tail between his legs.

He’s just finishing up the last text to Dean, a masterpiece of expletives and grammatically correct obscenities – he has no time for this ‘txt spk’ or what not – when Sam galumphs down the stairs, his footfalls weary and heavy. He sees Bobby, sitting at the now empty table and nods at him in greeting before heading into the kitchen.

Bobby should have left long ago, he knows this, but he’s family, so no one’s going to chuck him out, and he wants to check nothing further will kick off before he drives away. Luckily John and the Campbells all retired to their separate beds long ago, and Adam had eventually let Kate drag him back home, though she was crying and pleading with him at the time. Bobby never really had much time for the woman if he’s honest. He didn’t exactly _know_ about the affair when Mary was still with them, bless that poor woman’s soul, but he damn well knew John was being way too flirtatious to be considered proper for a married man. It’s just lucky again that Adam seems such a good kid – just shows, Bobby thinks, the whole ‘children are a reflection of their parents’ thing is utter horse shit.

Sam wanders back out then, clutching two glasses of water, and he stops beside the table, glancing tiredly down at the phone in Bobby’s hands. He smiles, obviously exhausted. “Didn’t know you were a texter, Bobby.” He says, shifting to one foot, and Bobby scowls, shooing him away with one hand. “If you’re texting Dean, I wouldn’t bother, he turns his phone off after a fight.”

Bobby sighs, and thinks about giving up then, but he quickly changes his mind. “He’ll get ‘em eventually.” He replies in a gruff voice, pressing send on his latest one. Sam smiles again, seeming warmed by his determination.

“Cas is getting the earliest flight out. He’ll be gone before we wake up probably.” Sam says breezily, clearly trying to sound nonchalant, but failing. Bobby knows how much he wants Dean’s happiness too. And they’ve all come to like the strange blue-eyed man Dean brought home with him three days ago.

Bobby just nods, and Sam gazes off into the distance, eyes glazed. “What the hell are you standin’ around for? Get to bed, you’re gettin’ married tomorrow ya’idgit.”

Sam laughs, but nods at Bobby’s order, and with a smile, he turns to walk towards the stairs. Hmm, Bobby thinks, one final text. Then he’ll go.

 **To: Dean**  
From: Bobby  
01:24am  
Cas is getting the earliest flight  
tomorrow morning back to Detroit.  
Just thought you might wanna  
know.  
Bobby

That done, he gets up, bones clicking into place, and stands in the silent room for a moment, before moving through the darkness and heading out the door.

* * *

 

 Dean’s phone buzzes again on the table beside his bed. The blue glow of the screen as it fizzes to life, whirring and vibrating against the wood, splashes against the ceiling, where Dean’s eyes are transfixed. He’s been lying in bed since he got to this crummy place, reminiscent of a thousand other motels he’s ever stayed at, and he’d undressed, crawled under the scratchy cover of the bed, and just stared up at the darkness. His phone has been buzzing at regular intervals. He checked it a couple of times, and it was always Bobby, which made him smile at first, because Bobby never texts – practically as a rule.

Ten minutes pass, undisturbed and achingly slow, Dean’s mind refusing to shut down and give him some peace, despite the fact he knows he’ll have a long day of smiling and putting on a pretence of being fine tomorrow. Sammy’s wedding day. Something that once, years ago, he might not have believed he’d ever get to see.

Five more minutes pass, and Dean frowns suddenly, glancing towards his silent phone in surprise. Bobby’s given up, so it would seem, as the intervals between texts don’t usually go on this long. He reaches out towards the phone and grabs hold of it, opening up the last text received, expecting more abuse shouted at him through instant-message form, but instead, the latest text is relatively short.

 **To: Dean**  
From: Bobby  
01:24am  
Cas is getting the earliest flight  
tomorrow morning back to Detroit.  
Just thought you might wanna  
know.  
Bobby

Dean swallows, feeling suddenly cold, and very much alone in this double bed he stupidly booked instead of a single. All he can concentrate on is the absence of a body beside him, and it’s stupid because he’s slept for months on his own, back at his apartment, but after two nights of having Cas beside him, warm and limber and feeling like _his,_ he’s gotten addicted.

So Cas is getting the earliest flight out of Dodge huh? That’s the 8:23am from Gate 22 if Dean recalls **.** He’s gotten that flight himself enough times, nearly always wanting to leave as quickly as he can after a trip back to see the family.

He shuts off the phone, cursing Bobby for trying to talk sense into him, because it’s just making everything harder. He rolls over in bed, pulling the covers up over his bared arms. At least Cas will be gone when he goes back in the morning to help out, Dean thinks, and sighs.

Sleep is approaching, finally, like a delayed train chugging slowly up to a station, and Dean waits at the platform, patient and shivering with something that could be cold, or something else, until it sweeps him away.

* * *

 

“Hello?” Dean calls as he pushes open the front door of the house the next morning. He’s not calling a greeting because the house is unoccupied, far from it, in fact it’s quite the opposite.

Everywhere he looks people are jogging about, carrying flowers and trays of little auderves that make Dean’s mouth water on sight. He catches sight of people he recognises – Abby and Lauren, Jess’s sisters, lauging helplessly as they run up the stairs, tripping over the long skirts of their lavender bridesmaid’s dresses; he even spots Brady and Liam, their arms slung around a very flustered looking chef (Valentino, if Dean recalls), prodding at his puffy white hat, and generally being dopey idiots. Dean smiles at the sight of them anyway, glad that they’ll be here for Sammy today at least.

He darts out of the way of two waiters on a mission, their penguin outfits flapping around their legs as they stride purposefully towards the kitchen. Dean decides to tag along behind, using the two waiters as a human shield against the many others all meandering about in their finery, mostly Jess's family, smiles on their faces because they’re at a wedding, and it’s a happy day. Dean tries to remember that.

He walks into the dining area, and finds, to his surprise, that the enormous table has been removed. In its place is their regular table, the one Dean had only briefly wondered about the disappearance of when he saw the giant one in its place at the rehearsal. The patio doors at the other end of the room have been flung open wide, and Dean just stares, mouth agape as he sees what lies beyond them.

Sunlight pours through into the room, filling their entire back garden with light, illuminating the grass with a soft yellow gleam. Rows of white foldaway chairs have been neatly spread out, their backs threaded with ribbon, and in two columns, all facing towards a thatched, trellis arch, twined with twisting vines, each bursting with violet and white flowers. A long white satin carpet has been rolled out as an aisle, between the chairs, and it’s sprinkled with lavender rose petals. Dean will never admit that his breath was stolen by the magnificence of what he saw.

“I guess Jess’ll get her dream wedding after all.” Dean breathes, and jumps when he feels a hand coming to rest on his back.

“I think God Himself couldn’t bear to deny that girl her optimism.” Bobby says, and there’s a wry smile on his lips. Dean gulps, because he’s all too aware that he’s been ignoring the guy all night, but Bobby doesn’t seem angry, so he lets himself be steered outside, towards the garden.

“I should really go see Sammy…” Dean says vaguely as they stand together on the grass, staring at the display in front of them in wonder.

“Nah, you don’t. He’s being suited up by his Granddaddy and his college buds.” Bobby replies quickly. “And John I believe.” He adds, and it does the trick, Dean sure as hell doesn’t want to go up and find Sam anymore.

He sighs, looking down at his ridiculously shiny shoes. Honestly, the things he does for his brother. He hates wearing a tuxedo.

“I can’t forgive him Bobby.” Dean says, picturing John's cruel smirk in his mind, and staring straight ahead. “At least not yet.”

Bobby just nods, solemn and slow from beside him, both of their eyes fixed pointedly on the roses crawling up the sides of the arch. The elder man starts to walk forwards, carefully avoiding the pristine white aisle, and stops to take a seat at the front, in a chair clearly marked ‘Bobby Singer’. Dean chuckles, thinking the guy sure knows his place, but sits beside him, trying not to mind that his chair is marked ‘Dad’.

“I’m not askin’ you to forgive your Daddy son.” Bobby says after a while, just as the sun beating down was starting to make Dean shift uncomfortably. “That man has had what you said to him comin’ for a while. I’m asking you to forgive someone else, and you know it.”

“Bobby…”

“Shut up y'idgit I’m talking.” Bobby interrupts, and Dean has to smile, but it doesn’t last long. He’s in for a lecture, apparently, whether he likes it or not. There's a long pause then, and so Dean turns to face the front, imagining his brother and Jess standing underneath the archway, their eyes glistening as they devote themselves to each other for eternity. “You remember that time you and Sam came to stay with me for a week or so when you were about fifteen?” Bobby asks, out of the blue, and Dean’s too confused by the sudden change in conversation to reply. “You went missin’ for a while, only noticed cause you didn’t come when I called you down for dinner, and that’s not the Dean I know.”

Dean chuckles, allowing himself to melt a little into the chair, and tilting his face up to the sun, because even if Bobby’s life lesson may not help him this time, it’s a welcome distraction right now. “Damn straight. If I’m not eating, something’s terribly wrong.”

Bobby swats at him, but continues. “Anyway, after a while of searchin’, I found you out in the scrapyard, curled up in the front seat of that damn Impala you always loved, even though it was just a torn-apart piece of junk at the time.” Dean’s heart falters, remembering with a surge of love how Bobby had helped him fix up his beautiful baby one year, just after he’d turned eighteen, and he’d kept it ever since. “You were cryin’ your damn eyes out, half out of your mind over some awful thing that’d happened to you. I climbed in to what was left of the passenger side, held you for a bit, tryin’ to calm you down, and you were babblin’ some nonsense. Mentioned the name 'Alastair' a couple’ times.”

Dean’s stomach drops and he jerks his head up, feeling a little nauseous all of a sudden. Oh god, he doesn’t remember telling Bobby about Alastair… He remembers crying about it, sure, crying a hell of a lot, but telling Bobby? That would surely be a mistake, even his fifteen-year-old self has got to know that.

“I don’t know what happened Dean, so you can wipe that petrified look off your mug.” Bobby assures him, and Dean swallows, trying to calm his pounding heart. He tilts his face back up to the sun. “I do remember what you said once you calmed down though. You told me that it’d never end. That you’d be stuck in this town for the rest of your days. You’d never find love, or have a chance at it, because family comes first, and you’ll be lookin’ after Sam, pulling your Dad through his problems, right until your last breath.”

A single tear squeezes itself out of Dean’s closed eyes, because he remembers now, remembers being in Bobby’s arms, looking out the smashed windscreen of his baby, and believing that he’d never get any further.

“I knew o’course, that you were wrong. But the fact that you didn’t know it killed me. I think that even after you _did_ get outta this town, even after Sammy proved he’s more than capable o’lookin’ after himself, you still felt that way.” Bobby continues, and he turns to Dean now, swivelling in his seat, staring at Dean with one eye closed because the sun is so bright it’s blinding. “And then I saw you with him. I damn near wanted to kiss the guy – no disrespect to you of course – cause he put that spark back in you again. I saw you together, and I felt like draggin’ your blasted fifteen year old self up from the past, just to show him how wrong he is. You found love, Dean. You found a love that most people spend their whole lives lookin’ for.”

Dean can’t even pretend he’s not crying now, and this is so far from okay. His heart is aching, it feels like his ribcage is splitting open, and he turns to Bobby, his eyes begging him to stop because _no,_ none of it was real, it can’t have been. Cas would never feel that way about someone so… so useless.

“Bobby please, he doesn’t-”

“Don’t even try it, Dean. The way that boy looked at you, like a million stars had just aligned, like he’d found God himself, right there in your damn foolish eyes.” Bobby says, and Dean shakes his head, because he can’t let himself believe it. “And so the hell what if he kept something from you? He did it for you, Dean! All of it, he was trying to protect you, and maybe it wasn’t a smart move, maybe he deserved a few harsh words, but not this!” Bobby stabs a finger at him now, leaning in close so that Dean can smell the whiskey on his breath. He has half a mind to ask Bobby for a sip from his flask. “Dean Winchester you are about to lose the best thing that ever happened to you, all because your Daddy is the biggest moron I ever had the pleasure of knowin'. Maybe you were right back then, when you said family comes first, I get that, I do. But you know as well as I do that family don’t end with blood boy, so you get your damn shit together and go get the son of a bitch.”

Dean stares, mouth open as Bobby turns makes 'hm' noise, obviously satisfied with his speech, and sits back in his chair, eyes closed against the sun.

“I’m not tellin’ you again.” Bobby murmurs, not looking round, and Dean quirks a smile. Before he can change his mind, he leans forward, throwing his arms around Bobby as he huffs and complains, and then leaps up, grinning.

Lawrence Municipal Airport here I come, he thinks, sprinting towards the house. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mad airport dashes, lots of tears, and the best wedding Dean's ever going to attend, he's sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters today to make up for my hopelessness.   
> Forgive me!  
> Love you all. x

He’s almost to the front door, having barged past a ferocious looking Samuel and Deanna, huddled together in the corner of the dining area, on his way, but he stops in his tracks when he gets there, chewing his lip, to glance at the staircase behind him. He should really just stop in on Sam, he thinks, say hello to him, let him know he’ll be back in time and not to worry – he is the best man after all.

He hurtles up the stairs, narrowly avoiding a small child belonging to some distant relation he’s not aware of – undoubtedly on Jess’s side – as it shoots past him, and he runs across the landing, reaching the end of the ridiculously decorated hall and hearing girlish giggles coming from John's room. The door is closed on that side, and that's probably where Jess is getting ready, with the help of her bridesmaids of course, and he allows himself to smile, turning ont he spot until he’s outside Sam’s open door.

He stops there though, not going in. The sight before him is heartwarming, in a way that Dean can’t really describe because it’s so unusual. Sam is in there, standing before his wardrobe mirror, dressed in his best tuxedo, black and perfectly fitting, with a lavender tie and matching handkerchief in the pocket. John is standing beside him, grinning, with one hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam looks mildly uncomfortable, but tolerates his father’s proximity with admirable patience, the kind Dean could never really muster up for long. On the other side of Sam stands Adam, smiling happily at Sam’s reflection, though Dean can see the anxiety in the kid’s eyes.

It’s really not fair, Adam being so affected by all this. None of it’s his fault, not really, he’s probably just been told what to do this entire time. Told to keep quiet around Dean for reasons he didn’t need to know. Dean would bet the very little amount left in his bank account that the reason the kid was so tolerant of John up to now was because he’d been assured that the affair was long over.

That’s what all the furtive glances between him and Sammy meant, Dean realises with a burst of clarity; when their Dad and Kate had started flirting again, unashamedly around the dinner table, Adam had kicked off, become furious with his mother, and John too, perhaps rightly so.

Seeing the three of them standing there, Dean can’t help but think what a great picture it is. This, right here, is to John, what the Winchester family should consist of. Two mildly irritated yet tolerant sons, with bright futures and a charming attitude, standing side by side in the mirror. Dean watches, a forlorn acceptance of the replacement brother washing over him as he sees Adam, in his spot beside Sam.

“Do you think Dean’ll come?” Sam asks then, breaking what Dean hadn’t realised until that point must have been quite an uncomfortable silence. They haven’t noticed Dean, hovering out of sight in the doorway, at least not yet. John tenses at Sam’s words.

“He’ll be here, Sam. He wouldn’t miss it.” Their father says, and Dean is stunned. It’s probably the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever gotten from John since Mary died.

Sam sighs, shrugging John’s hand off his shoulder and reaching to fiddle with his tie. “I hope so. It wouldn’t feel right, doing this without him here.”

Adam looks up at Sam, worry in his expression, and Dean can see from here that he’s basically petrified it’s all his fault. Dean knows because he himself sees that same expression in his own eyes, far too often. Sam just smiles back reassuringly, and that’s when Dean decides to back away.

He doesn’t have the time for this, not right now. Setting things right, telling Sam and Adam he doesn’t blame them, not really, that will take time, and he needs to go. He needs to grab onto the one good thing he has going for him, before it slips out of his grasp completely. He needs to find Cas and beg him to stay, ask him a thousand times until he relents. He doesn’t care if he has to be Cas’s dirty little secret, hidden from his boss and stowed away for the nights when Cas isn’t working. He just needs Cas, needs him in a way he’s never allowed himself to need anyone before. In a matter of days he’s confided things to Castiel that have stayed hidden in him for years, and it’s left a mark on him, branded him, like Cas’s claim on his soul.

There’s no going back now, he needs his Angel, and he’s about to fly away.

He runs back down the corridor, and stops outside his room, feet skidding to a halt on the carpeted floor. Out of pure instinct, he pushes open his door and peers inside, checking for something, though he doesn’t know what. Maybe he just wants evidence, that Cas had been here, that he’d had him for a little while.

He sees the perfectly made bed, hospital corners and all courtesy of Cas, and he shivers, remembering Cas’s touch burning against his sweat-flushed skin. His gaze travels around the empty space, searching for anything out of place, but there’s nothing. Cas is truly gone, it would seem.

He’s just about to duck out when he notices something, a flash of soft brown in the corner of his eye. He swivels back to face it, and leaning closer, he sees an envelope, isolated and sealed in the centre of the dresser. The blood drains from his face, and he steps into the room.

He’s barely breathing at all as he crosses to it, unable to comprehend what he’s seeing before him. Fingers reach out to brush the stiff paper, and he chokes up, trembling as he lifts it to his face, flipping it over to see the underside.

**Dean,**  
I don’t need your money, I’d rather have you.   
Obviously that’s not plausible now, so I hope instead I can convince you that I never once needed to pretend.   
I’d like to say I’ll be fine, but honestly I think I’d miss you even if we’d never met.   
Thank you for everything,  
Castiel

Two tears drip off Dean’s cheeks before he can stop them, landing with a patter onto the paper, and he doesn’t need to open it up to know that all six thousand dollars are still in there. He remembers with startling clarity how he had fretted over this same money, worried that he was being reckless, giving it all to an escort for the sake of a lie he would lose in four days. It's Sammy's college fund, that's what the money was originally intended to be. Dean had scrimped and saved, gone without food, done everything he could to scrape together the cash when he learned about Sam's high hopes, but then Sam, the braniac that he is, went and got a damn scholarship to Stanford. So the money had sat, gathering dust in his savings account, because Dean couldn't convince himself that Sammy wouldn't need it one day.

That was until he saw Cas on that plane. All doubts flew out the tiny windows, because Cas had so obviously been the answer to his prayers, and from that moment on, the money was as good as his. How could he have not taken it? The stupid son of a bitch, that must mean he really…

Dean looks heavenward, cursing at the sky because now things just got a whole lot more serious. It looks like he’s been a major dickwad once again, and has underestimated Castiel’s feelings for him. Well, what the fuck am I waiting for, he wonders, throwing the envelope onto the bed, and he sprints out of the room, back down the stairs, grabbing Sam’s keys on the way, because surely his little bro won’t mind him borrowing the car… right?

* * *

 

It’s 9:28am, and people are getting in Dean’s way. He’s charging through the airport at full speed, ignoring the strange looks he’s getting from basically everyone because of his full tuxedo, complete with a lavender flower in his lapel. _Gate 22, Gate 22_ , his mind is saying, his eyes searching for signs frantically. Theoretically he knows he’s too late, the plane boarded at 8:23, and that was over and hour ago now, but he can’t lose faith.

His eye catches sight of a sign boldly stating ‘Gates 20-24 This Way’, and he near runs towards it, kicking the suitcase of an elderly man as he goes. He’s still running, head turning to and fro frantically when he feels someone charging into him, shouting his name.

“Dean!” His heart stops, and then it starts again, because it’s not Cas, it couldn’t be. The voice is female for a start.

He looks down at his chest, confused at the weight suddenly pressed there, and is met with a shock of silky blonde hair. His mind stutters for a moment, and then the gears kick in. “…Jo?!”

She leans back, grinning excitedly, her skinny arms still wrapped around him. She’s got a case, though not a particularly large one, on wheels behind her, and she unwinds herself from him, reaching for it as she smoothes down her hair. “Jeez, it’s lucky you’re here, I have no idea how I would’ve found the house otherwise-”

“Jo, what the hell are you doing here?” Dean interrupts, mildly aware that his voice is a tad hysterical. He should be continuing on, getting to Gate 22, but this is too weird, how is Jo here? What’s happening?

She laughs, tilting her head back to show her pearly teeth, and for a second, Dean has the urge to laugh with her. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with an alien feeling, flooding his veins and filling him with uncertainty, until he realises it’s just _relief._ He’s so glad to see his best friend, in spite of everything, because she always makes him feel better, and that’s a damn good thing right about now.

“I snuck out of the house _really_ early this morning, while Mom was still asleep. Crawled out the window and everything – man, I’m such a rebel, truly – and I got my friend Rick to drive me to the airport. I’ve been planning this for a while so I had enough money saved and-”

“Okay, that’s great Jo, really.” Dean interrupts again, the novelty of this strange coincidence wearing off by the second. “I’m happy to see you, I am, and I’ll take you to the wedding but right now I gotta get to Gate 22 to stop-”

“Gate 22?” Jo asks before Dean can finish, her sharp mind having followed Dean’s rushed explanation easily. He nods uncertainly, darting a look down the corridor where endless streams of people are headed, towards those very gates. “The 8:23 flight back home? That just took off Dean. I was watching it out the window of my plane when it came in.” She sounds gentle as she says it, her eyes soft, as if she knows, though of course she can’t possibly. “Why? Who’s on it?”

Dean just slumps, all the energy draining out of his body as he realises that he’s too late. He’d been an idiot to think he could have gotten to Cas in time in the first place. Now who knows if he’ll even get to talk to the guy again? Back in Detroit Cas will undoubtedly be different, back in the area code of his agency, he’ll surely want to play more by the rules. His company will block Dean's calls, and slowly, surely, Castiel will realise that he'd been a fool to ever think about Dean as anything other than another job well done. 

The next thing he knows, he’s slumped on one of those airport benches, the rows of chairs so stiff and uncomfortable you might as well sit on the floor, but he’s wrapped in Jo’s embrace, and she smells like coconut, so that’s a plus at least. He’s not crying, but he’s damn close, and he doesn’t even need to talk, because Jo’s awesome like that, and she just knows.

She strokes his hair soothingly, holding him to her, in this terrible place, where metal death tubes rocket into the sky overhead, and he’s really never detested the things more than he does right now, knowing one of them is stealing his only hope away from him.

* * *

 

“Come on.” Dean says after what could be an hour, maybe less, maybe more. He sits back, taking in the sight of Jo’s worried face and smiles at her sadly, squeezing her hand. “We got a wedding to attend.”

She hesitates, dithering in her hard metal seat, but nods eventually, her eyes round and concerned. Dean stands first, reaching for her hand, but she swats it away, rolling her eyes as she gets up and grabs her case, marching along beside him.

Dean chuckles at her defiant ‘fuck that, I’m an independent woman’ response, and falls into step with her easily, guiding her through the swarms of people and leading her out to the car. There’s not a whole lot left to do now, and he tried, he really did. But he let Cas slip away, and that’s the end of it. He can't let himself think about this, not right now. 

He keeps running through options in his mind just in case, brow creased in concentration as he throws Jo’s bag into the trunk, slamming the lid closed. By the time Jo is safely in the car he's got some pretty wacky ideas – calling a bomb threat on the plane Cas is on is his personal favourite, so it has to turn back, for safety. But of course he wouldn’t really.

God knows he’d probably pop an artery if that happened to him mid-flight, he doesn’t want to put some poor sucker with the same ridiculous phobia as him through that. So he slides in the driver’s seat, shoots a look that’s as reassuring as he can manage at Jo, though of course she doesn’t buy it, and turns the ignition, speeding back towards Sam’s big day.

He’s really _exponentially_ glad that his best friend is such a mischievous little thing, always looking to break her Mom's rules, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to get through this without her.

* * *

 

The ceremony takes a while to begin, and Dean finds himself with a lot of spare time on his hands. He hates that, always has, likes to be kept busy so that his mind is otherwise occupied, and right now he needs to not be able to dwell. It helps that Jo doesn’t leave his side for a moment, clinging onto his arm like a limpet, her short black dress swaying prettily against her slender knees.

She smiles and charms everyone she meets, needing no hints when Bobby rounds a corner straight into them, his happy expression fading fast as he takes in the sight of Dean, no one but Jo by his side. She takes Bobby’s arm, despite having only talked to the guy a couple of times on the phone - and one particularly memorable time, in a skype call. It didn’t last very long, as Bobby has no time for that sort of palava.

She led the old guy into a corner, away from where Dean had flagged down one of the waiters carrying the nibbles, and explained what had happened, so Dean didn’t need to talk about it. Really, does he need to explain why he loves that girl so much?

The waiter tries to slip away then, Dean’s attention having wandered briefly, but he grabs the guy by his apron ties and yanks him backwards.

“Oh no you don’t.” Dean mutters, and the waiter looks vaguely concerned for his wellbeing. Dean doesn’t bother to reassure the poor guy, he can deal, and besides, there’s mini quiches on that tray he's holding.

As the flaky pastry crumbles in his mouth, Dean lets out a soft sound of satisfaction, closing his eyes to savour the salty taste. When he opens them again, he spots Adam in the distance, attempting to cross the room quickly, but being waylaid by a group of elderly women, who Dean assumes are somehow related to Jess. Everyone in this place seems to be on Jess's side, he thinks, willingly admitting he's more than glad of that fact.

Right, it’s unquestionably time to do some damage control there, Dean thinks, looking at Adam. He brushes his hands together to free himself of crumbs, and swallows his bite, shooing the relieved looking waiter away at last. Adam’s eyes are round and terrified as he spots Dean coming towards him, but he’s held in place, unable to move as the women surrounding him pinch his cheeks viciously, straightening his tie and generally cooing over his existence.

He is a cute kid, Dean will begrudgingly admit, though of course he can only ever hope to be second most good-looking in this family, he thinks with a smirk, and Adam looks even more wary.

“Adam, a word?” Dean says in lieu of a greeting as soon as he reaches him. Adam looks around him furtively, as if searching for a quick escape route, but Dean politely excuses himself to the ladies and takes Adam’s arm, steering him gently away from the swarms of guests. Inevitably, the only place they can find that’s not teeming with people is the den, and though it isn’t Dean’s first choice, for obvious reasons, he puts on a brave face, and perches on the edge of his father’s surprisingly empty chair. John must still be upstairs with Sam, and that's a good thing. He doesn't want to face him for a while.

“Look, Dean, I’m sorry about everything, I didn’t mean-” Adam’s fiddling with his tie, obviously terrified that Dean’s anger will be directed towards him now, and he can hardly blame the kid, Dean practically turned into Lou Ferrigno last night at dinner. Dean holds up a hand to silence him, meaning it to be reassuring, but realising quickly that it probably looks quite threatening. Words, he thinks, words are good too.

“Adam I’m not mad at you.” Dean says quickly, and Adam’s fingers scrunch up his tie, his face growing suspicious and confused. “This whole… mess. None of it’s your fault dude, you were born in a sucky way, into a sucky family, but you’re a great kid and I like you a lot.”

It takes several moments, Dean giving his sincerest look and meeting Adam’s gaze, before the kid breaks. His shoulders slump, and he lets out a breath, relief flooding his whole being. “Wow, that’s such a relief you have no idea, Dean.” Adam says, near laughing now. “I am sorry though, I didn’t want to keep anything from you, I was just told it was for the best and… I don’t know. Thanks though, I really like you too Dean, I hope we can be friends.”

Dean smiles at him, glad that this little conflict has been resolved. Adam is a great guy, it’d be a shame to have any kind of bad relationship with him. Of course, now he’s undistracted again, and his mind is free to wander, back to the hopelessness of his failed might-have-been relationship, and everything else.

Adam turns to leave the room, giving Dean a departing wave, but he stops at the door, turning back once and winking in Dean’s direction. “Later, _b_ _ro._ ”

Dean can’t help but laugh at that, and the kid grins, so it’s a nice moment. Until Adam leaves, and Dean is left alone in his father’s chair, with the thoughts of everything he did wrong. Wow, he thinks, ironically I could really use a beer. He shakes it off though, standing up and leaving the den quickly before he transforms into his father. 

* * *

 

The ceremony is every bit as stunning as Dean expected it to be. He’s the best man of course, so he’s able to watch the entire spectacle from the front, swelling with pride as he stands under the flowery arch, right beside Sam, standing with his arms clasped before him, in his tux.

“Hey Sammy,” he whispers, just as the flower girl – the child he remembers from before – skips down towards them, throwing actual sprigs of lavender over her shoulder. To his delight, she manages to hit Christian right in the eye by accident, and he scowls, squeezing one eye shut and gesturing to Mark, trying to get him to see if there’s any remnants of it still in there.

“This better be important, Dean.” Sam whispers back, both of them staring up the aisle, their lips barely moving. Dean knows that Sam is smiling though, he has to be, and that's a hell of a good sign.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I yelled at you last night. I’m really happy for you, Sammy. Nothing you ever do could make me hate you. I just needed you to know that, cause I couldn’t let you get married thinking I wasn’t friggin pumped about it.” Dean takes a breath, having said all of that rather fast, on account of the sight of Abby and Lauren making their way down the aisle now, which means time is running out.

Sam doesn’t respond, and for a sickening moment, Dean thinks he might have spoilt everything further somehow, so he turns to look up at his brother’s face, only to find him smiling at Dean, big and bright, like everything in his world has just fallen into place.

Aw, what the hell, Dean thinks, nobody will mind a little brotherly affection. He leans in towards Sam, wrapping two arms around him and squeezing once, lingering just long enough to feel Sam’s tight responding hold, and then he breaks off, nodding. Good, he thinks, another load off his mind.

And just in time too.

There’s always been something a tad Angelic about Jess, and maybe that’s the reason she and Cas got on so well, Dean muses. But as she steps out of the patio doors, her short, thin-haired father proudly holding out an arm for her, Dean swears the sun itself explodes out from behind a cloud. The sudden, unexpected light as she comes into view illuminates her entirely, gleaming off the pristine white lace of her floaty, floor length dress, and the tiny, modest tiara resting on her curls sparkles so brightly it’s enough to make him squint.

Sam chokes on the breath he’s taking in when he sees her, and Dean looks up at him, finding tears in his baby brother’s eyes. That’s what you wanna see, he thinks, grinning, two people so in love they cry on sight at their wedding day. He pats Sam on the back, alternating glances between the two of them as Jess glides carefully up the aisle, all heads turning to look at her as she moves.

It’s easy to see she’s smiling now, grinning in fact, her face lit up and perfect as she stares at her groom, and Sam grins back, extending a hand as she nears the front. Jess’s dad does the business of handing her over, placing a lingering kiss on Jess's rouged cheek as he slides her hand into Sam’s, and then he moves off, taking his place as they all turn, Dean too, to face the conductor of this thing.

Dean says conductor as opposed to priest because he literally had no idea how to respond when he was informed that Garth would be conducting the ceremony. The scrawny, smiley young man holds a bible in his hands as they stand before him, one that probably weighs more than he does, and he smiles up at Sam and Jess, eager to begin.

“Folks, welcome to the big hullaballoo.” Is Garth’s opening line, and Dean just grins, settling back to watch the proceedings. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mad airport dashes, lots of tears, and the best wedding Dean's ever going to attend, he's sure.

Every five minutes Castiel convinces himself that he's made a mistake, and that he's got to turn back. 

He thinks it as he checks his bags at Lawrence Municipal, the kind woman's smile wavering as she attempts to tug the bag out of his hands, because he's finding it difficult to let go, as once he does, there's pretty much no turning back. 

He thinks it as he straps himself into his seat on the plane, the light of the seatbelt sign pinging off just as he remembers the brilliance of Dean's smile. Surely, if he went back, if he explained further, forced Dean to listen... oh, but he's on the runway now. They're doing the safety talk. 

Up in the air, sailing through the clouds, it feels wrong, so totally wrong to be hurtling away from Dean, who'll be all alone at his brother's wedding. No one to soothe him as his treacherous grandparents sneer, no one to advise him on the colour of his tie. Castiel is so distressed by it that he has to get up frequently, pacing the length of the plane until someone complains, and he is asked politely to take his seat.

He orders a gin and tonic, and it comes to him in a crystal tumbler, because he's in business class, paid for by the slimy company that holds his contract. The same company that's splitting him from the only person he's ever felt connected to, the only person he can think about, no matter how many refills he asks for.

Landing back in Detroit is just worse, and he feels like crumpling to the floor almost as soon as he's waved off the plane, all of the cabin crew smiling eerily as he passes them by. He wonders if any of them were there on the day he met Dean. He waits for his bag, letting it go around a few times on the conveyor because for some reason it doesn't seem to matter if he takes it or not. Several people stare at him curiously when he eventually does, noticing his strange, distant behaviour.

He's waiting at the taxi rank, his mind somewhere else, miles away, wondering about the colour of Jess's wedding dress, whether Sam will remember his dance moves. What does Dean look like standing at an altar? 

"'scuse me son?" A voice, startling him back to reality. A man, black hair and narrow, puffy eyes, leaning out of his cab window, talking to Castiel, getting his attention. Castiel tries to focus. "You need a cab somewhere or what?"

Castiel blinks at him. He's next in the queue for the taxi's it would seem. People behind him are tapping their feet impatiently, waiting for him to get in, be driven home, get out of their lives. He's hesitating.

Every five minutes Castiel convinces himself that he's made a mistake, and that he's got to turn back.

* * *

 

In the course of distracting himself with Sam’s happiness so that he wouldn’t need to think about Cas, Dean had somewhat forgotten the fact that he would undoubtedly need to be present for the entirety of the happy couple's first dance. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see it, of course he did, but the memories of Sam and Jess rehearsing that same dance, while he had been swept about the room in the arms of the one person he was trying to put to the back of his mind were strong, and he doesn’t know if he can cope.

Almost as soon as the ceremony ended, the waiters that seem to be milling about practically everywhere one minute and then entirely absent the next, had suddenly swarmed in, ushering all guests to one side while an inhumanly fast change of scenery was performed, all of them working together to firstly stack the chairs, and then arrange them around circular tables, each with its own white linen cloth, a vase of purple tulips in the centre. Dean for the most part stood with Bobby and Jo, all three of their expressions undoubtedly very similar upon seeing such a profound spectacle.

Then, in no time at all, all of them were directed towards tables, seated in the groups they were standing in – luckily for Dean he was standing in between two of his favourite people in the world – and having cutlery and fine china placed before them in a flurry of clatters and sweeping hands. The final touch before the waiters surely went to collapse in a corner somewhere, was the aisle which Jess had walked down. The waiters grabbed hold of it, each taking a side, and unfolded it to an impossible size, spreading it across the space they had created on the lawn, and effectively making a makeshift dancefloor.

Music starts up from nowhere, the song ‘I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You’ - not the original, a cover by a breathily-voiced young woman - which Dean thinks is remarkably fitting, and then everyone, it seems, can finally relax.

“Well blow me.” Bobby says, looking confusedly down at the table before him, and at the chair he’s sitting on, as if it had escaped his notice how he got there at all. “What in the hell just happened?”

“Those guys must be friggin’ illusionists. I swear that whole transformation took about a minute.” Jo agrees, looking around her in wonder. Dean looks with her, and realises for the first time that there are fairylights strung up in various trees. That’ll be a nice touch when it gets dark, he thinks. “Oooh, looky! They just made a bar out of that table! Dean, if I _promise_ to buy you lunch for the next week at the garage, will you get me a rum and coke?”

Jo grabs his bicep, her eyes pleading as she makes her request. She really does look gorgeous, Dean thinks, and feels bad for not noticing it before. She’s even wearing jewellery for Christ’s sake – sparkly, dangly earrings that match her little black dress - and this is _Jo._ She doesn't do the girly thing very often. It doesn’t mean he’s going to buy her alcohol though. He opens his mouth to say as much, but a voice interrupts him.

“I’d love to get you that drink, gorgeous.” It’s Adam, having swanned over to their table, his charming grin fixed in place. Dean hides a smirk, raising his eyebrows at Bobby because he’s all too familiar with that particular chat up expression. He’s seen a very similar one in the mirror many times.

He sucks in a breath though, leaning in close to Bobby and wincing, bracing himself for the imminent explosion. “Poor kid, how was he to know that you do _not_ hit on Jo Harvelle if you wanna keep your balls in tact?” He whispers, low enough that only the man next to him will hear.

Bobby chuckles in response, leaning casually backwards in his chair to get the full view of Jo’s response. It doesn’t disappoint.

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Jo asks, her eyes narrowing at Adam. The kid’s grin wavers a little, but he doesn't move away, doesn’t sense the danger, and it’s sad to watch, it really is. “I’m sorry, did I look like I was throwing myself out there, desperate for some brave teenage frat boy to come rescue me, buy me a drink and then think he deserves to get in my pants?”

Adam gets it then, and he leans back from her, shocked and about to deny everything. She doesn’t let him get the words out though, and she just turns, a cold dismissal, not even bothering to shoo him away before she repeats her request to Dean. Adam’s mouth is wide open, and Dean just shrugs at him in sympathy, as nonchalantly as possible, as Jo doesn’t discriminate based on sexuality. She’ll roast anyone if she thinks they’re being disrespectful. It’s why she and Cas would have got on so well, he thinks sadly, and then grinds his teeth together.

_Stop thinking about him. Later, on the plane home, you can curl up into a ball of shivering, blubbering fear and self-hatred for letting him go. Not now._

He sighs, and actually, now that he thinks about it, drinks sound like a damn good idea. He gazes through the litany of other tables scattered about the garden, briefly noting Missouri sat with the Campbells, all of them drinking heavily as she gestures at their outlines, shouting something about blackened spirits and wicked thoughts poisoning their hearts.

That makes Dean smile. He also notices Sam and Jess, sat with their college buddies, all of them laughing like the kids they are, toasting glasses of champagne as the bride and groom stare sickeningly into each other’s eyes. Finally, he spots the bar, over near the house, and he gets up from his chair, waving Jo off and telling her he’ll get her damn girly drink, but just _one._

On his way, he briefly notes that Adam hasn’t moved, still standing beside the table, eyes fixed on Jo, like he simply can’t believe he’s been refused. Jo isn’t paying him a lick of attention, deciding Bobby’s anecdote about the origins of the Skinwalker myths are far more interesting.

“Two rum and cokes please.” He says to the bartender when he approaches, because yeah, he secretly likes girly drinks too, and why the hell shouldn’t he? He lets his fingers drum against the makeshift countertop as the waiter gets on with it, and then remembers Bobby. “Oh, and can I get a beer too? Make it two actually, whatever’s your best bottled one.”

The guy gets the drinks easily, and waves Dean off when he pulls out his wallet, insisting that Sam had point blank stated he was not allowed to pay for Jack squat at this wedding. Dean scowls a little, rolling his eyes, but makes a mental note to thank Sam later as he meanders back over to the table.

Two more chairs have been pulled up when he returns, in one of which Adam is seated, beside Jo, leaning far too much into her personal space, and failing to get an ounce of her attention. The other chair belongs to Garth, surprisingly, and he decides to give the guy the extra beer he got, just because he went to such extremes to make sure his brother’s wedding day went swimmingly.

* * *

 

“Dean!” Jo hisses as soon as Bobby gets up after the enormous dinner has been served and consumed, muttering that he’s finding a bathroom and that he half expects it to be pulled out of a damn hat at this wedding. Adam stood up immediately after him, declaring that he was going to help Bobby, which Dean is sure will go down well with the old hunter, but the kid’s clearly only saying it to impress Jo, maybe in the hopes she’ll see him as an honourable boy scout or something. “The weird pizza kid keeps hitting on me! Do something!”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that’s my brother you’re talking about.” Dean replies smoothly, taking a long pull on what must be his third, possibly fourth beer. Jo’s eyes go wide and she stares at Dean, totally incredulous.

“What the fuck?!” Is Jo’s response, and Dean only chuckles, not even having the heart to chastise her for swearing. She looks at the space where Adam disappeared, her mouth hanging open a little way, as if she’s trying to maybe decide if she’s made a giant mistake sending that boy packing. Well, she did always say that if Dean were straight she’d have climbed him like a tree by now. It only made Dean a little uncomfortable. A lot actually, a lot.

He’s just gotten to that stage in his alcohol consumption where he’s feeling quite deliciously numb, able to let his thoughts slide past each other now, not really paying them much mind. The effort of keeping any thoughts of Cas chained down lessens considerably, because he’s too tipsy to concentrate on the pain they cause.

Garth laughs too at Jo’s cursing, and he sips his own bottle, still his first one, the one Dean bought him right when they first saw the bar. “Need to know, kid.” Garth tells Jo, hiccupping a little, and it’s suddenly hilarious for some reason. How Garth knows about Adam and all that, Dean has no idea, but that’s beside the point. Darkness crept up on the party, about an hour ago maybe, and Dean had been right, the fairylights twinkle adorably in the trees fringing the garden, just enough to light up the people laughing together below.

A candle has been placed on everyone’s table, and Dean is staring at theirs currently, lost in the dancing yellow flame. He wonders what Cas is doing now, if he’s lonely back at home, wherever he lives, and if he misses Dean. Even the littlest bit.

Jo notices him frowning, and slides an arm around his shoulders, leaning in close to his ear. “Hey, cheer up handsome, look Sammy’s about to have his first dance!”

She presses a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek, and he knows she feels the tear there, but she doesn’t mention it, so he rests his head on her shoulder, smiling as he watches his baby brother step out onto the dancefloor, through the haze of a flickering golden candle.

He moves Jess with the effortless fluidity Dean remembers feeling in Cas’s arms. They’re clearly a little drunk, and so it’s not perfect, not by any means, but it looks mesmerising, and they laugh, spinning each other and lacing their arms around waists and necks in turn. Sam runs his fingers through Jess’s soft curls, and she smiles up at him, swaying to the song, looking like she’s finally found her prince charming.

If it hadn't been for Garth, Dean might have burst into noisy tears then, from the combined emotion of the memory of Cas, and the fact he’s witnessing everything he ever wanted for his little brother, his Sammy. Luckily right then Garth lets out a howl of approval, clapping wildly above the soft melody of the song, and Dean has to stifle his laughter.

“Woo! Go Sam! Nailed that waltz buddy!” Garth shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth to project his voice over to the couple. Sam looks up, but luckily he just seems amused, and he manages to tear his hands away from Jess long enough to give him a thumbs up in response.

Dean stares at the side of Garth’s head until he turns to face him, eyes slightly lidded, his cheeks rosy even in the low lighting. “Garth, are you drunk?” Dean asks him, amused.

“Of course I’m drunk! I just had a whole beer!” He replies, and he shakily holds the empty bottle up to demonstrate, before turning back to shout more encouragement to Sam.

Jo squeezes Dean’s shoulder then, making him look up at her soft, smiling eyes, and Dean can tell just from her kind expression that she’s pitying him. It’s heartbreaking really, but Dean can’t find it in himself to care. “Hey,” she says softly, “wanna show me your moves?”

Dean chuckles, but shakes his head, because that is just not something he signed up for. Jo looks a little petulant then, and he laughs harder, because that’s the Jo he knows and loves, not some sympathising girly girl who dotes on heartbroken losers at weddings. “Come on, please?” She begs, though it sounds more like a command. “You know Adam will ask me otherwise, and also I’m pretty sure the best man is, like, legally obligated to be the next one on the floor.”

He tries to protest further, but Jo is having none of it, batting his excuses away and tugging on his arm relentlessly until he stands, just a tad wobbly on his feet. Garth turns to look up in surprise, but gives him a thumbs up, and Dean wonders briefly if Garth will cheer him on too.

“Alright, alright, let’s do this.” Dean says grudgingly, much to Jo’s delight, and he downs the rest of his beer, Jo tugging him away just in time to run straight into Bobby, who raises an eyebrow at Dean but says nothing. He looks a little like he’s hiding something, and there’s a gleam in his eye that makes Dean want to sit him down and interrogate the hell out of him, but it will have to wait for another time. Right now, he’s being pulled away.

Dancing with Jo is obviously about as different as it gets from dancing with Castiel, but in Dean’s eyes that’s probably a good thing. He doesn’t need to drown the poor girl in tears, especially not if he wants her to hook up with Adam, which all of a sudden he totally does. He smiles a little at that, and leans down towards her.

“Y’know Adam’s not a bad guy.” He says, and Jo immediately rolls her eyes. He perseveres anyway, swinging her round a little faster, hands on her waist just to make her giggle. “He inherited my douchey cockiness when it comes to talkin’ to prospective partners, but he’s a sweet kid. And you’ve made him head over heels for you in the space of about four hours.”

“Dean. Don’t make me regret pulling your sorry ass out of that chair.” Jo replies, raising her eyebrows at him, and Dean grins.

“Could do worse, that’s all I’m saying!” Dean tries, and then nods, signalling he knows that’s the end of it. He considers it a personal victory when he sees her sneak a glance at the table behind her, checking Adam’s back in his seat. He smiles, and though Dean can’t see, he’d bet six thousand bucks she smiled back at him.

They spin together, Jo’s dress flying out prettily as they move, stepping pretty randomly, much to Garth’s annoyance, and he doesn’t bother hiding it. “That’s not how I showed you Dean! Left foot- don’t let her lead! Christ, you're as bad as your brother!”

Dean doesn’t mind, he’s perfectly happy to admit that the expertise in the dancing came from Cas and Cas alone, so he watches the fairylights blur into shooting stars around him, catching Sammy’s eye every so often when he surfaces from his tonsil tennis with his new wife, and grinning at the both of them, just showing how happy he is that they found each other, and pinned each other down.

Something changes just as a new song pours out of the speakers, one that makes his heart seize up because it’s the very same that his mom would sing as a lullaby, her favourite song in fact.

_“Hey Jude, don’t make a sound, take a sad song, and make it better…”_

Dean tries not to well up, he tries damn hard, because he’s got some dignity left dammit, though he doesn’t know where it’s hiding itself currently. He’s blinking away the tears so profusely that at first he doesn’t notice that he and Jo have stopped moving. He’s still clutching her, the song still playing on, but she’s frozen, and Dean looks down at her, eyes blurred, just in time to see her completely stunned expression melt away into a heartwarming grin.

Dean is baffled by the sudden exultation on her face, but he smiles back, happy that she’s happy, and he glances up at Sam, only to find that both he and Jess have stopped dancing too, and that’s surely a little odd. Sam lets out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, and Jess is grinning so hard she has to hide her face in Sam’s chest. All Dean can do is wonder what on earth is happening, and it’s at that moment he feels a light hand resting on his shoulder.

He turns, of course he turns, and he expects a thousand things, every damn thing, except what he sees standing before him.

“Excuse me, Jo is it? Lovely to meet you at last. Sorry to be rude, but may I cut in?”

There are no words, no thoughts whasoever in Dean’s mind as the rich, smooth voice that he half thought was lost to him forever floods his ears. He stares, as dumbstruck as he was the very first time, because right there is Castiel, overwhelmingly beautiful in the light of the twinkling trees, and he can’t breathe, can’t do anything except let his hands be prised from Jo, and moved across to rest on his Angel. He vaguely sees Jo with one hand over her mouth, apparently overcome with surprise and joy, before she turns, running straight into Adam, who wastes no opportunities to get a dance when he sees one.

“Cas…” Dean breathes, nowhere near coherent as he feels the warmth of the man beneath his hands again, and he grips, clutching at silky suit material until it’s bunched in his hands, running his gaze slowly over him, from toes to the crown of his head, because yes, it would seem he is real. How on earth does that make sense?

There’s a pounding, glowing heat threading its way through his entire body, radiating in his fingertips, choking him, burning tears into his eyes and he leans in, Cas just passive and looking a hell of a lot like he’s feeling the exact same way. Dean touches their foreheads together, their noses brushing as he inhales the scent of just _Cas,_ and maybe because he can’t help it, or maybe because he never got to do it a last time, he kisses him.

Cas doesn’t seem to mind, far from it, and he pulls Dean in, his firm hands sweeping over Dean's sides, winding around his waist and squeezing tightly, their lips pressing fervently, both of them tasting tears, though they couldn’t have told you who’s. Dean’s arms snake up around Cas’s neck, and he runs his fingers through silky black hair, not realising how much he missed it, even for just this long.

There’s a faint chorus of ‘aw’s’ from somewhere behind them, but neither of them break apart, instead choosing to smile against each other, arms tightening further, as if demonstrating their need to not let go ever again.

When Dean pulls back eventually, he makes sure it’s not very far, and they’re not even dancing, not really, just sort of swaying on the spot, staring into each other’s eyes. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” Dean says, rushed and barely coherent, because he’s still kind of crying, and he’s sure he's never been this emotional in his life. “What I said man, I hated myself the minute after, I don’t care what you do, baby, I just want you, like, really really bad, I don’t think I can- can _live_ properly without you now, I-”

Cas kisses him again, an extremely effective ‘shut the hell up’ technique, and Dean laughs, knowing that he’s barely making any sense, so yeah, kissing is much better. But at least Cas knows he’s sorry.

Cas pulls away first this time, and Dean makes a whimpering noise, trying to lean back in and capture his lips again, which he does succeed in doing for a moment, before Cas chuckles again and pushes him back, gently. “Don’t ever say you hate yourself in front of me, Dean Winchester.” He says, low and infuriatingly sexy, just like everything else he does. “I saw the goodness in you the moment we met, and everything you’ve done since has only been another reason for me to fall further in love with you. You don’t have to apologise, you were upset, and I shouldn’t have tried to keep things from you.”

“ _No,_ Cas, you can’t take the blame here, that’s obviously stupid, you were just trying to help, and I fucked it all up-”

Castiel cups his face then, leaning in close, and Dean is so stunned by the proximity of his azure eyes that he literally stops mid-sentence. “Dean, what did I just say? No self-hatred in my presence. I swear Dean, if it takes me the rest of our lives I am going to hammer it into you how beautiful,” he presses a kiss to Dean’s smiling mouth before quickly leaning back, “sweet,” he pushes their lips together again, “charming,” another kiss, “and utterly, infuriatingly selfless you are.” He kisses him again then, one last time, longer and slower, allowing their tongues to meet, and drawing about ten billion really embarrassing sounds out of Dean, thankfully hidden by the final chords of ‘Hey Jude’.

They stay like that for longer than Dean would like to admit, because he's not going to be the first to let go, not if it kills him, and so they just kiss, tongues sliding against each other, Cas tasting sweet, maybe with a mild undertone of gin and tonic, which makes Dean smile a lot. They're under the night sky, Sam is somewhere nearby, with his _wife_ no less, and Cas is here, somehow he's here, and Dean feels so warm, it's like his soul is ablaze. 

When Cas releases him, Dean looks a little dazed, but he’s totally unable to keep the enormous grin off his face. “The rest of our lives, huh?” He asks sloppily, and Cas smiles back, pulling him close and stepping him into an almost-waltz.

“Hmm, hopefully.” Cas replies, and with a flury of movements too quick to catch, he dips Dean, catching him off guard again and grinning as Dean yelps in surprise, before straightening him up again, the audience letting out a faint mutter of appreciation at the complicated move. Castiel laughs at Dean's blush, and bows to him, letting him lead this time.

“And I mean it by the way Cas, when we get back home, I’ll keep it a secret I swear, I don’t wanna jeopardise your career, and I don’t mind, truly I don’t, as long as you come home to me after.” Dean says, catching Cas’s gaze and holding it because he needs Cas to see how sincere he is about this.

Castiel watches him, brow creased for a few moments, and then he smiles again, shaking his head a little and kissing him, because apparently he can’t help doing that at, like, minute intervals. Not that Dean minds.

“This is what I’m talking about, Dean. That nobility, you’d have to search a long time to find it’s equal in anyone else.” Castiel remarks, and Dean’s nose wrinkles, Cas’s turn of phrase leaving him lost with the amount he’s had to drink. “I would never ask that of you. To wait at home while I spent my evenings making someone else feel special. I’m quitting my job Dean, as soon as I get home. The only person I ever want to escort anywhere is you.”

Dean’s about to protest, to take Castiel by the shoulders and shake some sense into him because he’s not worth that, he’s just not.

“Dean don’t even try to tell me you’re not worth it. You're by far the best thing that's ever happened to me, I should be thanking you for showing me how much more there is to life than Heaven and Hell Escort Service. And I’d be fired anyway, seeing as I’m certainly not letting you pay me, not to mention all the rules I broke over the course of our weekend together. I’m sure you know the main one I'm referring to.” Castiel continues, and he raises his eyebrows to indicate what he means, making Dean blush, and look at his toes. It was totally worth it though, Dean thinks, remembering. 

“Cas, I… I think I’m gonna pass out. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to me.” Dean confesses, meeting Cas’s eyes again and flushing even redder.

Castiel seems to find it endearing, luckily, and he tilts Dean’s chin towards him, looking deeply into his eyes. “Good things do happen, Dean." He says, and there's a pause, like he's letting those words sink into Dean's brain. "Now introduce me to your best friend, I feel very rude for interrupting your dance.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, aware he's grinning like an idiot, but he just wants to keep hold of this moment, just for a little while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lateness. There'll probably be one or two chapters more now, and then an epilogue as I've already planned it out :)   
> Thanks guys, you're all fab. x


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings are hard ;)

“Alright guys, let’s huddle up. Picture time.”

The photographer Sam somehow recruited for the wedding is a little unorthodox maybe, but she’s also got a charm, a sort of sarcastic confidence that Dean finds he immediately loves about her. He’d actually stumbled across her about half an hour ago – literally stumbled, as she’d been lying on the floor at the time, her belly to the ground, camera angled upwards as she snapped a picture of the happy couple at the table. He’d apologised profusely to her of course, but she waved him off, jumping up and blowing her long red hair out of her face.

“No worries, dude!” She’d said dismissively, flicking through the photos she’d just taken on the small screen of her camera. “I’m renowned for getting into awkward positions to find the perfect shot.”

Dean had grinned then, mostly because he hadn’t stopped grinning since Cas had shown up and made life seem worth living again. “I’m Dean. Groom’s brother, best man, possibly the luckiest guy in the world right now.” He’d said as an introduction, holding out a hand for her.

She'd looked up at him, smirking, but shook his hand, a firm grip that surprised Dean. “Charlie Bradbury. Photographer, video game enthusiast, and,” she leaned towards him, speaking out of the corner of her mouth, “ _raging homosexual_ I’m afraid, if you’re trying to chat me up right now.”

Dean spluttered a laugh then, and he’d proudly boasted about his own 'out and proud' status for a few minutes, singling out Cas, still chatting with Bobby over at the table, his eyes sparkling when Cas looked over and smiled.

“Aw, cute.” Charlie said, waving at Cas, a little awkwardly. “Well, nice to meet you Dean, but I gotta go, photographs to snap and all that.”

Dean had raised his eyebrows at her, sensing the slight lie in her voice, and she shrugged, but rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. One of those bridesmaids has been giving me the eye ever since we started talking. You understand right?” And then she’d winked, snapped a photo of him that left him partially blinded, and disappeared towards her conquest, leaving Dean free to finally grab the two drinks he’d left to get for him and Cas over ten minutes before.

So yeah, Dean thinks as Charlie now manhandles him into position for the group photo, she’s cool. Like the little sister he never wanted.

“Dean,” Cas breathes from by his side, his voice low because he doesn’t want to interrupt Charlie directing people into their places, but Dean shudders anyway; Castiel’s voice is alarmingly sensual, “I haven’t had the chance to tell you yet, but that suit looks infuriatingly good on you.”

It’s several moments before Dean calms down enough to respond, but eventually he does, and he says back, “Infuriatingly, huh?”

He thinks he senses Castiel smiling, but he can’t be sure, as he’s being told to face the front. “Infuriating in the sense that I would much rather be ripping it off you.” Castiel replies, and Dean chokes on something- the air? His own saliva? Who knows, but he does, and he ends up flushed red from the coughing fit he explodes into as a result. Castiel can’t just _say_ that! He’s totally not allowed to just sweep in, his hair all perfectly ruffled, wearing the tightest suit in the damn world, and whisper his sexual desires into Dean’s ear, it’s just unfair.

He’s definitely laying down some ground rules with the guy about it later, because Castiel doesn’t seem to be aware that he has the capability of reducing Dean to a pile of unbearably aroused mush in about two seconds flat, basically by just _looking_ at him a certain way. And then his stomach flips over, like, three times, because he realises that now he actually gets the chance to talk to Cas about these things. To kiss him and shut him away in the confines of his cold, crappy little apartment, push him down on his empty, spacious bed and just take him to pieces.

As a result, Dean’s face is probably a mixture of ecstasy, euphoria and embarrassment from all the coughing as Charlie snaps the first photograph. Dammit, he thinks, that’s almost certainly not attractive. Luckily for him, Charlie is by no means happy with that photo, and that’s about when he feels Castiel’s hand wandering over the small of his back, pulling him in close. Bobby, who’s the other side of Dean, notices the sudden widening gap between them, and turns to give Dean a small smile.

“Okay, not to be rude or anything guys, but that was shit.” Charlie complains, and luckily nearly everyone laughs at her choice of words “Half of you had your damn eyes closed for pete’s sake, I’m lookin’ at you there Garth.”

Dean laughs again, loud and happy, because he’s hopelessly glad she met Garth, for reasons he’s not totally sure of. All he knows is he would pay big bucks to watch those two have a single conversation.

“I’m gonna try something I do with my… younger clientele.” She says, and she dips her hand daintily into the shoulder bag she’s got strapped around her, her long coppery hair swishing prettily around her face as she does so. When she surfaces, blowing the strands out of her eyes, she holds up a small, bobblehead doll. Dean squints at it, confused. “Alright everyone, this is Hermione. I don’t wanna hear bitching about how she’s not your favourite HP character, cause she is bad _ass._ Got it?”

Everyone nods solemnly, save for the Campbells, all grouped together down one end of the mass of guests, as far away from Dean as humanly possible it would seem, though close enough to Sam and Jess, clasping each other in the centre, not to seem rude.

“Right. So she’s going here,” Charlie continues, placing the jittering doll on top of her camera, presumably with some blu-tac she already had the foresight to stick to its underside, “and you are to keep your eyes _fixed_ on Hermione, got it?”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes’s’ when she cups her ear, and then she ducks her head to the viewfinder, and clicks the shutter, a bright light flashing through the darkness. Dean is sure to keep his eyes trained on the young witch the entire time.

* * *

 

On the whole, everything went far better than Castiel had anticipated. In fact, he’d been preparing himself for the worst, all through the journey back to Kansas, the plane ride going the other way being no better than the one that had sped him away in the first place. His nerves, which were usually quite easily tameable, were completely out of control during the whole flight, and though he’d refrained from ordering more than one more gin and tonic – he didn’t want to show up drunk to try and win Dean back after all – he’d barely managed to stop himself from imagining Dean’s rejection a thousand times over.

He confides as much to Dean himself now, their heads bowed together at their table, their eyes sticking together because they can’t seem to get over the sight of the other before them.

“I feared you’d hate me forever. That you'd never believe how I felt wasn't part of an act.” Castiel admits, his index finger tracing patterns on the back of Dean’s hand.

“Well you’re stupid.” Dean replies, and Castiel’s mouth parts in faux-indignation, but Dean just kisses the look off his face, too happy to do anything more than stitch together the wounds they caused each other with the feel of their lips moulding. “But it’s okay, I like you a lot anyway.” Dean says, grinning because he knows he’s being an idiot, but he doesn’t care.

“I can already tell you’re going to be a nightmare.” Castiel says fondly, softly tapping his finger against Dean’s nose, and it’s okay, because Dean knows he’s joking, he sees that now. “I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

Dean nods dreamily, not seeming to process Cas’s words at all, because when he stands, Dean makes a noise of protest, his fingers grabbing at the sleeves of Castiel’s jacket.

“I’ll only be a minute, Dean.” Castiel laughs, gently prising his fingers away. Dean looks grumpy, which is adorable, and Castiel physically has to fight the urge to kiss him again.

“A minute’s too long.” Dean says sulkily, folding his arms, and Castiel just smiles, turning to walk back towards the house. He’s waylaid momentarily by a pink cheeked, obviously drunk, recently married couple still in their wedding finery.

“Castiel, you angel, I’m so glad you came back!” Jess near shouts, because she clearly can’t tell what decibel she’s speaking at. She throws herself at him, her arms looping themselves clumsily around his neck, and he laughs softly, muffled in her shock of blonde hair. “You and Dean being together, being happy, it really makes this day special, Cas.”

“Hey!” Sam shouts from behind them, sounding pouty at her words. Jess grins then, spinning on the spot to launch herself back into her husband’s arms, and reassuring him with nuzzles and kisses that she’d _meant_ to say _even more_ special than it already is.

Castiel grins at them, leans forwards a little to whisper, “I’m glad I came back too,” and then continues his walk towards the house. He’s distracted again by the sight of Adam, on his knees in the middle of the grass, away from the rest of the party so that he’s shrouded in darkness, the blanket of fairylights not reaching this far. Castiel’s memories of the boy indicate that Adam is probably doing something untoward, and his first instinct is to look away, but he quickly sees that is not what’s going on this time.

Adam’s hands are clasped in front of him, and for a peculiar moment, Castiel thinks he looks like he’s mid-prayer.

“Please, I’m sorry I objectified you, I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t totally independent and capable... and beautiful, and mesmerising-”

“See? There you go again!” Comes another voice, completely invisible to him in the dark, though high and unmistakeable, as Castiel had been introduced to the same voice just a couple of hours before. “I am not here just for you to ogle Mister, so good genetics or not-”

“Jo please! I don’t know what’s happening, I’ve never felt like this before!” Adam cries, and Castiel hears Jo scoff once, loudly, and then she’s stalking past him, nodding at Castiel as she goes, and leaving Adam on his knees in the middle of the lawn, obviously a total wreck.

Castiel debates going to soothe the poor young man, but then he decides that his need to pee far outweighs the graciousness he feels towards the pizza boy that – unwillingly or not – caused such a rift in his and Dean’s relationship. He feels slightly mean as he enters the house, okay _very_ mean, and he almost turns around, but Adam will surely benefit further from learning - as Jo seems to think is best - that love is a cruel, capricious thing, but that it inevitably pays off.

Castiel had certainly learnt it the hard way.

He traipses up the stairs, finding the bathroom with no detours this time, because he wants to get back to Dean as soon as possible. He pauses outside the bathroom door, because he thinks for a moment that he may have heard noises coming from Dean’s end of the hall, but they stop, and Castiel shrugs it off.

Once he’s finished, drying his hands on a towel, the noises pick up again, and it sounds breathy, ragged, interspersed with little noises that could perhaps be someone whimpering in pain. He darts across to Dean’s closed door, concerned, and presses his ear against the wood. The noises are definitely emanating from within, so loud now that he can feel it reverberating through the door itself. He dithers, wondering what the best course of action is.

Oh what the hell, he thinks at last, if I’m giving up my job to focus on what I truly want to do, and that’s helping people, without a doubt, then I definitely need to see if someone needs assistance in this room.

All he can think as he pushes open the door, is how Gabriel would tease him. He’d call him naïve, silly for thinking it could be anything other than this, really. Heck, Castiel isn’t an _idiot,_ he should have known what he was likely to find.

There are two people, horizontal on Dean's bed. Charlie is the first of the two people to lift her head and look at Castiel, as she is the one currently laid on top of the other girl. “Dude! If the door’s a rockin’ don’t come a knockin’!” She cries, scandalised, and Castiel realises with mild horror that she has her hand beneath the lavender skirt of the girl underneath her. Thankfully, they’re both still clothed though.

“Oh, I’m- gosh, I’m so-” Castiel starts to say, eyes darting about the room, but he frowns suddenly, and swivels back to face the girl. The one that isn’t Charlie.

“Abby?!” Castiel cries, utterly astounded, and he leans a little closer out of instinct, just to check that’s really who it is. Jess’s little sister, though thankfully not the youngest of the three. She’s around twenty-two if Castiel recalls.

Abby immediately grabs the pillow beside her – Dean’s pillow, Castiel thinks, because that’s how his mind works now, establishing sides of the bed for himself and his new partner – and slams it down across her face, hiding it from view.

Castiel is still staring at her, shocked, his eyes wide, when he hears a muffled, “don’t tell Jess!” And then he snorts.

He won’t though. It can be his and Abby’s little secret, though he’s almost sure it’ll come out eventually. He darts a quick glance up to Charlie, his eyes half-disapproving, half-marvelling, wondering how on earth she managed to get sweet, innocent little Abby, who picked out the lavender colour scheme of the wedding because she had a nail varnish in the same shade, into bed with her.

Charlie just raises her eyebrows right back, her hand not moving from where it’s rucking up the hem of Abby’s skirt. “What?” She asks, gesturing down at herself with her free hand. “It’s not like I can shut this down!”

That’s about when Castiel decides to duck out, because they clearly don’t mind being caught in the act enough to actually _stop,_ and Castiel pretends he doesn’t see it when Charlie turns back to the girl beneath her, smiling seductively as she moves her hand a little, and Abby moans, arching off the bed.

Wow, Castiel thinks as he closes the door behind him, that bed has seen a lot of action in the past few days.

* * *

 

Sam and Jess’s departure is emotional and every bit as draining as Dean expected it to be. They changed into some reasonably more travel-appropriate clothes somewhere during the time when Dean was lost in Cas’s mouth again, and now, all too soon, they’re waving goodbye, cheery smiles on their faces as they dole out hugs and receive every variation on ‘congratulations’ in the book.

Dean makes sure to wait for last for his hug with Sam, out of courtesy. It’s honestly not because he wants to seem the most important, it’s simply because his hugs with Sam are a marathon event, filled with unspoken affections, and silent tears dripped into fabric of their shirts.

It seems to take a millennia for everyone to have their turn for this reason, but Dean is patient, squeezing Cas’s hand as he waits in the queue, and Cas squeezes right back, because he knows. Finally, Sam’s eyes find his in the crowd, and he stumbles towards his brother, grin in place, arms spread wide.

Sam pulls him in fiercely, too fiercely in fact, and Dean is crushed against his enormous chest, but he just laughs, and hugs back as tight as he can. He’s not going to see Sam for a while now, and neither of them mention it, but they can feel the imminent separation looming over their heads. It’s going to suck, but Sammy more than deserves a honeymoon, in Hawaii no less, where he’s always wanted to go, and Dean has to get home. He has a life to start, with a new person to centre it around.

“Thanks for everything, Dean.” Sam murmurs, cheek crushed against Dean’s skull. Dean can hear the emotion in his voice. “I’m so, so happy you found someone. I’m pretty sure you’ve got the happily ever after deal right there.”

Dean smiles against his shoulder, because only Sam could say something that sappy and still bring tears to Dean’s eyes. “I think that’s you you’re talking about there, man.” He leans back then, with considerable effort, Sam’s arms sliding down to grip his upper arms. “Jess is one lucky girl.”

He darts a look over to the girl in question, who’s watching them both, a warm smile on her beautiful face.

“Y’know,” Dean continues, before Sam can cut in, “for having the most awesome brother in law on the planet.” He says, grinning and gets the most brilliant bitchface out of Sam as a result.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great.” Adam suddenly says, appearing out of nowhere seemingly, and resting his elbow on Dean’s shoulder as he grins. Dean scoffs and shrugs the kid off, ignoring the fact that was a perfectly timed little comment right there. He will not be out-done in the humour department by his younger sibling dammit.

He finally releases Sam, and gives Jess a long hug, telling her jokingly to take care of his baby brother or he’ll have to hunt her down. She laughs, but nods solemnly, and slips an arm round Sam’s waist. Then, with a few more teary waves, they head out to their waiting taxi, ready for their new married life to begin at last.

* * *

 

Dean’s watching, hand clasping Cas’s tightly, as Adam takes another step towards Jo, and she doesn’t push him away. They’re standing a few paces from where he and Cas are sat, giving the two of them the perfect opportunity to observe their ‘will-they-won’t-they’ dance. It’s fascinating, and Castiel seems every bit as caught up in it as he is. Jo seems to be more tolerant of Adam’s presence now, and it might be because she’s managed to sneak three more rum and cokes past the bartender’s nose, but it might be because Adam has started sweet-talking her like nobody’s business. But in terms of her personality and intellect as opposed to her looks.

Adam moves his hand up then, and Cas’s breath catches because he’s utterly caught up in this, and so is Dean. Adam’s reaching up towards her, brushing a blonde strand that’s fluttered across her eyes, tucking it behind her ear…

Jo’s phone blares abruptly, making Adam jump back in surprise, and Dean can tell he had been on red alert that entire time, in case Jo suddenly snapped and decided he was worth more to her as a punching bag. She digs in her little black clutch bag, frowning at the intrusion, which has to be a good sign, and brings the phone to her ear without looking at the caller. Big mistake, Dean thinks, because he’s been there.

He glances up at Cas, shrugging at the almost moment they just witnessed, and going back to staring into the depths of his fascinating eyes. Castiel leans forwards, teasingly close, and Dean thinks for a moment that he might be too tired to close the extra few centimetres. Then he shakes it off. No one is that tired.

“What?! Oh my god, Mom, no- Mom I’m _fine!_ ” It’s Jo’s voice, causing Dean’s head to snap up, because oh shit, if Ellen has found out Jo has snuck over here, he’ll undoubtedly be up for the blame as well. Shit! “Look, just calm down, I’m sorry okay? What did you expect though?! What are you- I’m at Sam’s wedding, _duh_.” Jo pulls the phone away from her ear then, wincing, and even Dean can hear the angry shouting emanating from the other end. “Mom!” Jo cries into the phone from a few inches away, “You weren’t gonna let me go! What was I supposed to do?! Yes, Dean’s here, Mom I- _Yes._ Okay, okay, I’ll get him to take me home. Yep. Grounded for life. Got it. Never again. Uh huh. Bye Mom.”

The hand holding the phone slides away from her ear, and she looks exhausted all of a sudden. Dean winces in sympathy; he’s never been on the receiving end of Ellen’s rants before personally, but he’s seen her chew out some people in his time and it looks hellish.

“Dean, we gotta go. You’re _escorting_ me home apparently.” Jo yells across to Dean, and the few stragglers left at their tables look up at the conversation between them with interest.

It’s an interesting choice of words she uses, Dean thinks to himself, smiling secretly, and he nods to her, standing up and stretching, because he was kind of sort of thinking about going now anyway. He’s had his fill of family-time by this point.

* * *

 

Dean’s stuff is all up in his room again, where he’d deposited it after coming home after the airport fiasco. Cas for some reason insists that he be the one to retrieve it, actually blocking Dean from going up the stairs, which should by all accounts be highly suspicious. Dean just agrees though in the end because why not, it’s not like he’s eager to lug his bags down the stairs.

He waits at the front door with Cas’s stuff, and watches, mildly amused, as a miserable looking Adam trails around after Jo, his lower lip practically jutting out now that she has to leave.

“Look, pizza guy,” she says after she trips over Adam’s feet for the third time, “if I give you my number will you promise to wipe that murdered puppy look off your face?”

Adam brightens so fast it’s a little startling, and he straightens up, grinning at her, nodding enthusiastically in response. “I promise! And I swear I’ll only use it to talk to you about regular, non-chat uppy things.” He says, hand on his heart.

She frowns at him then, pulling a pen out of her clutch bag and reaching for his hand. “Well, you can flirt with me sometimes over text if you want.” She says in a mildly bored tone of voice that's she's obviously putting on to keep him in his place. Dean grins at her, marvelling at her tactics, and watching intently as she scribbles a row of numbers down on Adam’s hand. No one gives his little brother a fake number, not even Jo. But false alarm, the number is hers. “I am a teenage girl after all.”

She winks then, and Dean thinks Adam might swoon. Luckily Cas thumps down the stairs at that moment, laden with bags, and clutching a small brown envelope in his hand. He waves the object at Dean. “You almost forgot this.” He says amusedly, and Dean looks down at his feet. Castiel holds it out for him expectantly though, and Dean takes it, a little reluctantly, sighing.

“You didn’t have to do this Cas.” He says quietly to the Angel, wary that Adam and Jo are nearby and _one_ of them has no idea what this particular envelope represents.

“Yes I did.” Cas replies simply, and kisses Dean before he can respond.

“Come on guys, stop macking and let’s get out of here.” Jo complains, checking the time on her phone anxiously. “Actually, on second thought, keep your tongues in each other’s mouths, that way we’ll delay the inevitable newsworthy yelling-match I’m in for when I get home.”

Unfortunately for Jo, it’s then that Bobby rounds the corner, pushing John ahead of him as he goes, and that’s damn encouraging – John can’t even muster up the enthusiasm to say goodbye under his own steam. They’re the only ones left to say goodbye to really, seeing as the Campbells left without saying goodbye to anyone really, or even thanking the Winchester’s for putting up with them for three days.

“Castiel.” John says croakily, addressing the Angel, and he sticks out his hand for Cas to take. Castiel takes his time about freeing himself of his various bags, and Dean hides a smile, because he’s ninety percent sure Cas is only doing it to make John wait. He takes the proffered hand eventually though, his face solemn but not hostile. “Pleasure to meet you son. You’re welcome back anytime.”

Dean huffs a laugh at that, attracting basically everyone’s attention, and he suddenly wonders when exactly he decided he was done with his Dad’s bullshit. “Yeah, and why the hell would he wanna come back, Dad?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows at his father as though he were really asking. He pulls Cas’s hand free of John’s grasp, and his Dad just stares, unmoving. “Let’s see, in the short time you had to make a good impression on my boyfriend – who I’d previously told you was very important to me – you teased him about his name and family, acted like a drunken idiot, glared at him any time he made a move of physical affection towards me, laughed at his profession, and then forced him to keep your dirty little secret from me, which could have potentially _ended_ our relationship were it not for our ability to overcome the butterfly effect of your stupid mistakes.”

Dean darts a look at Adam then, trying to convey with his eyes alone that he didn’t mean _him._ Adam is not a mistake, he’s one of the few miracles that came out of that shitty situation, and Adam nods, understanding. John still says nothing, he just waits a few moments, eyes flicking between Cas and Dean, and then finally to Bobby, who looks as cold as Dean feels.

After what has to be a full minute of uncomfortable silence, everyone waiting for John to kick off, the man just turns away, walking back into the depths of the house. Bobby tuts, and everyone’s muscles drain of tension. To be honest, Dean had expected a fight. Maybe this was a sign that John was starting to feel badly about his actions.

Bobby turned to Dean then, extending his arms for a rare hug. Dean went into it eagerly, inhaling Bobby’s motor oil and whiskey scent. “Thanks for sticking by my side there Bobby.” He doesn’t mean in terms of words, but Bobby hadn’t needed to say anything. His stern expression had told John all he’d needed to know – that this time, the old hunter wasn’t going to back him up.

“No problem, boy.” Bobby says, gruffly into Dean’s shoulder before releasing him. “I’ll keep an eye on your Daddy. You tell Rufus I said hello, and to buy you a beer on me.”

Dean chuckles and says he will, remembering with a burst of fondness how Bobby had fixed him up with his job at the garage years ago, after he’d been complaining non-stop about how he wanted to get out of Lawrence. Bobby’d told him he had a friend down in Detroit that owned a shop not unlike his, and he bet that he could get Dean hired there as a personal favour. Dean had refused at first, thinking of his obligations to his family, but then Sammy had announced he was off to college, and he’d gone to Bobby straight away, told him to make the call. Bobby hadn’t even hesitated in picking up the phone.

Bobby turns to Castiel then, and to everyone’s surprise, pulls him in for a hug too. “Good to know you, son. I’m mighty glad that you got your head outta your ass and came back in time to pick this idjit up off the floor. God knows he wouldn’t’a done it a second time.”

He straightens up, Castiel’s arms falling from his back, and notes the confused frown on the Angel’s face. “Second time? You mean Dean tried to fix things a first time?”

Dean laughs then, a tad hysterical, because he hasn’t told Castiel about his mad airport dash yet, and all of a sudden it feels remarkably idiotic. Whatever, he’s certain Jo will fill the guy in on the journey back. Without skimping on the humiliating details because that’s the kind of awesome best friend she is.

* * *

 

The plane journey back is relatively quiet, calm and peaceful. Dean sits back in his overly-luxurious chair – Jo had been beside herself with excitement when she’d been informed they were travelling business class – and stares out at the cirrus clouds, looking like they’re just waiting for Dean to skim his fingers over their rippled edge.

Castiel leans forwards, poking his head around the side of Dean’s chair, a smile on his perfect pink lips. “Are you feeling alright?” He asks, because he’s the best boyfriend ever, and he still gets chills when he thinks that word in relation to the man before him.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m good.” Dean replies, smiling dazedly, and he leans forwards, digging his fingers into Castiel’s hair and kissing him, far more hungrily than is perhaps acceptable for a place as posh as this, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s allowed, they’ve got all the time in the world now. And Dean might be suspended in mid-air, in a tube crammed with people that seems to defy the laws of gravity, but for some reason, he feels like if he were to fall, someone would be there to catch him.

* * *

 

“…and then he just blubbered like a _baby._ ” Jo finishes, ending her retelling of the dramatic mad airport dash Dean had done that very morning. Castiel’s heart feels like it’s going to explode, and he can’t believe someone did that for him, even more than that, he can’t believe _Dean_ did that for him. Dean’s face is buried in his hands, and he’s embarrassed obviously, which seems nonsensical, but also totally adorable. Castiel glances up at the seatbelt sign, and he notices with a mild thrill of rebelliousness that it’s still on, but he unbuckles his anyway. Checking quickly to ensure that there are no flight staff milling about, he sneaks into the tiny compartment of Dean’s seat, where he’s still pressing his flushing face into his fingers, and climbs onto his lap.

Dean starts immediately, jerking his face up to meet Castiel, who is now on top of him, smirking. “That was a wonderful thing you did for me this morning, Dean.” Castiel says, and he cups Dean’s jaw, tilting his face up. Dean makes a strangled sound, and Castiel can tell he’s going to have to move soon, because that’s almost definitely not a roll of quarters poking into his thigh, and Castiel shifts slightly, just because he wants to 'check', and Dean shuts his eyes and moans.

“Shh, shh. Jo’s watching.” Castiel whispers, and Dean’s eyes fly open again, looking desperate. Castiel loves that he’s able to do this to Dean, because apparently Dean isn’t even coherent anymore, and it’s delicious. But… it will have to wait for later. It’s very late now anyway, the rest of the plane are sleeping pretty much, and they’re both tired, not to mention in public. He lets his lips brush over Dean’s for a couple of seconds, he even lets Dean’s hands slide up his waist and round to his back, raking down his spine.

“Ugh, you just can’t be put off, can you Castiel?” Jo asks, effectively ruining the mood. Castiel breaks off, smiling at her, and Dean whimpers. “ _Blubbering._ Literally! Into my dress! On the seats of the airport!” Castiel just smiles, and clambers off Dean’s lap, but not before giving him one more departing kiss.

“So, what’s it like on the Hell side of your website thingy? Can you take me there sometime? Y’know, before you quit.” Jo is asking as he settles back into his own chair, and Castiel shakes his head fondly, allowing his mind to wander, forwards, into the future, where the only certainty is Dean, yet he finds he doesn’t mind at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say, there will be an epilogue, I have every bit of it planned, so it will be coming very soon.
> 
> I just... thank you, all of you, so much. I'm really, hopelessly glad you liked the story, I hope that everything was wrapped up for you, if not, let me know, I'll reply to your comments or even put it in the epilogue if you like :) thanks again guys, I love you all to pieces xxx


	18. Epilogue [Part 1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self esteem issues or not, there are some things Dean is really good at, and he knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So welcome to the epiclogue (see what I did there?) no but seriously, this epilogue is getting out of hand man, it's too long already, and so I've divided it up, and basically, here's the first part. I would guess at three parts in total, though don't hold me to it.
> 
> I just want to add, I read all your utterly amazing reviews and just thank you all so much. To show my gratitude I'm going to attempt to wrap up anything you mentioned in your comments, so if you want me to include anything (within reason!) give me a shout, I promise I'll see it even if it takes me a while to reply, and I'll try and slip it in. Thanks again guys, I hope you enjoy the epilogue as much as the story itself :) xxx

Delivering Jo back to Ellen is an ordeal, though it's not entirely the hellish ordeal Dean had thought it would be. By the time the three of them land back in Detroit, it’s around 2am, so it sends immediate red flags up in Dean's mind that all the lights are still on in the Roadhouse. Dean gulps audibly as he pulls the Impala into the forecourt, not failing to notice how utterly deserted everything is, which makes this at least ten times more terrifying. He shouldn’t be nervous, he knows, Ellen is just an ordinary woman at the end of the day, and though she could potentially fire him for not immediately calling her up and informing her of Jo’s unexpected – yet very welcome – arrival in Lawrence, he doesn’t reserve the right to get any sympathy for it. After all, Cas has to go into work on Monday and _quit_ the only job he’s ever really known, stand up to his scary boss, who from what Dean’s heard sounds like one _mountain_ of dicks.

Still, he imagines he can hear Jo’s heart beating speedily against her chest from all the way in the back seat, and he looks over at Cas for comfort, in spite of himself. At least he’s got the job at the garage to fall back on, he thinks glumly, focusing on the shine of Castiel’s eyes through the darkness as he switches off the engine.

“Okay Jo,” Dean says tiredly, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror to catch hers, “any last words?”

Jo’s chewing her nails, ripping the tips of them off with her razor sharp teeth and spitting them across the seats beside her; it’s making Dean all sorts of antsy, though he lets it go on account of her current situation. “Not funny Dean.” She says, and she sounds terrified, poor thing.

“It’s probably best to get it over and done with.” Castiel says out of nowhere, his voice seeming abnormally loud in the empty parking lot, but with an undertone of sympathy too, bouncing around inside the quiet, dark Impala interior. “Once she gets her anger out of the way, she can’t hold the grudge forever. Just try and bear the brunt of it for now.”

Jo scoffs, glaring out of the window at the yellow light pouring out of the Roadhouse, telling Castiel with her body language alone that she doesn’t need his advice, but Dean notices a mildly contemplative look flash briefly across her face.

“Kiss for luck?” Dean asks after a few long moments, because hey, Jo isn’t the only one in this car with her ass lined up for a good kicking. Castiel smiles at him, amused and a little rueful, and Dean can’t help smiling back.

“God, you two just don’t stop do you? I’m starting to regret ever giving you that website address Dean, I mean the kissing noises on the plane back _alone-_ ” Jo starts to say, and that’s when Dean opens his door, cutting her off. Sacrificing that kiss he totally knows Cas would have given him for later, he swings one leg out into the cool night air.

“Okay, come on. Let’s just do this.” Dean calls to Jo, and as he’s climbing out, he realises with a shiver of dread that Ellen probably heard the car pulling up, so she knows they’ve been out here, working up the nerve to go inside, and that’s not good.

He walks round to the other side of the car, because Jo still hasn’t moved, and he pulls open her door, eyebrows raised. She’s cowering in her seat, looking like a hunted animal, and Dean just sighs and pulls her out by her arm.

“Dean, no, wait, can’t I stay with you for tonight?” Jo pleads as he drags her out of the car, moving round to the trunk to find her bag. He stares at her, incredulous, when she says this.

“No!” He practically cries, and Jo’s shoulders slump.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know about you, but when I have a freakin _Angel_ ready and willing to rip my clothes off as soon as we’re alone, I take full advantage of that opportunity!” Dean hisses back, and heaves her case out, thrusting the handle towards her so she scowls.

“I would have slept on the sofa!” She argues, following a little way behind Dean as he marches towards the door of the Roadhouse, spurred on by his own words – the sooner this bit is over, the sooner the best part begins. Alone with Cas, he muses, shivering a little, and not from the cold, that's enough to dull anyone's nerves. “ _With_ my fingers jammed in my ears. I’m an excellent houseguest, really I’m-”

The door swings open, and Ellen stands before them, a silhouette against the bright light shining behind her. Her hands are on her hips, and though it’s too dark to make out her expression properly, Dean can tell she’s all kinds of pissed.

“Joanna Beth, you get in this house right now.” Ellen says in her southern drawl, and her voice is entirely level, but at the same time manages to make Dean want to pee his pants.

“Mom, look, I’m s-”

“I suggest you zip it and lock it young lady, I don’t want to look at you right now, so go to your room and I’ll deal with you in the morning.” Ellen interrupts, and true to her word, she doesn’t make eye contact with her daughter, keeping her gaze fixed on Dean instead the entire time. Jo huffs a sigh, and shoots one last mournful look at Dean before squeezing past her mother and heading inside.

Dean doesn’t dare respond with a look of sympathy, Ellen’s watching him, closely, scrutinising him almost, and it’s making his heart race. There’s a long moment then, Dean shifting awkwardly under Ellen’s watchful eye, gulping, playing with his own fingers.

“Listen, Ellen-”

“Dean.”

That startles Dean for a second, and he’s momentarily thrown off track; her addressing him seems to have wiped his mind clean of whatever he had been about to say.

“I, about Jo… I mean, she just, she turned up, I know I should have-”

Before he can go any further with his haphazard attempt at an explanation thank goodness, Ellen’s arms are around him, not in a chokehold as he first suspects, but in an embrace, squeezing his shoulderblades together because she’s a hell of a strong lady. “Dean, thank you for bringing her home.” Ellen says quietly, the words travelling directly from her lips to his ear.

“Uh… no problem.” Dean replies, a little strained because he’s still being squeezed. He doesn’t add that he’s one hundred percent sure Jo could have gotten home all on her own even if she’d wound up in Timbuktu.

“That girl’s gonna be the death of me, I swear.” Ellen says, releasing him after a good few seconds, and as she leans back, Dean could swear there are tears in her eyes. But she looks down, briefly, and then they’re gone. “I was out of my mind with worry.”

Dean nibbles his lower lip, unsure if he should say what he’s thinking. The thing is, Jo being his best friend inevitably outweighs the risks of him losing this job, even if that would mean he’d be back to square one with his Event Planning business. He’s more than aware of why Jo gets into so many fights with Ellen, she whines about it all the time at the garage, how her Mom won’t let her have an inch of freedom, ruins every relationship she’s ever tried to have, is constantly refusing to let her take control of her own life. Jo’s personality is made up primarily of two things: independence and stubbornness. She takes out her frustration over her relationship with Ellen on the damaged engines brought into the shop every day, goes home to Ellen, who refuses to talk about it, and nothing ever changes. Dean decides he has to at least _try._ For Jo’s sake.

“Y’know…” He says hesitantly, catching Ellen’s wary eye. “Jo’s a tough girl. She puts all the guys at the garage in their place all the time, you should see it.” Dean chuckles, remembering some of her more inventive insults.

“Your point, Winchester?”

Dean holds up his hands to show he’s not a threat. “I’m just saying… if anyone deserves a little credit, it’s her. I mean she did get all the way to Lawrence on her own, turned up looking stunning in time to see Sammy walk down the aisle. Maybe she deserves a little leeway?”

He holds his breath, eyes flicking over Ellen’s poker face, trying to gauge her reaction. After a few painfully long seconds, she leans forwards, arms folded now, getting very close to his face. Dean braces himself for yelling, even screwing his eyes shut in preparation for what has to be an oncoming scolding.

“Jo’s a smart girl, you’re right there. She takes after her mama.” Ellen says quietly, her breath hot and sharp as it wafts across his face. It’s not exactly unpleasant, but he’d still rather move away all the same. “That said, I would highly advise you to stay out of this one, Winchester number one. This fight’s between my girl, and me.”

Ellen’s narrowed eyes are enough to fill anyone with a sickening anxiety, so Dean’s eyes fly open, and he salutes her quickly, signalling that he gets the picture, and smiles, backing away slowly. Poor Jo, he thinks. One day she’ll move out and it will be a hell of a lot easier, no doubt. Who knows, maybe he did some good?

Ellen watches him, ignoring his cheery wave and call of goodnight, as he jogs back to the car. She rolls her eyes and closes the door. So yeah, all in all, it could have gone a lot worse.

* * *

 

Castiel watches Dean’s interaction with the woman - Jo’s mother - from the passenger seat of his car. It’s a beautiful car, very classic in the design, probably made originally in around the late 60’s. He runs a hand over the metal vines threaded throughout the dashboard, his fingers dancing over leather, rich dark wood, all of it smooth and slightly chilled to the touch.

He’s going to become very familiar with this car, he can tell, and the thought makes him smile. This car, the object that Dean calls ‘baby’, it is an extension of the man himself, his mode of transport. If you like: his wings. So Castiel takes his time about memorising every detail, noting the care with which Dean keeps it, no litter, very clean, minimal dust. He must truly love this car.

The woman on the doorstep is leaning towards Dean now, very close to his face, and he seems unnerved by it. Soon, he is backing away from her, a fixed grin in place, and the woman is closing the door, returning to her daughter, Jo, the girl that had comforted Dean when he had despaired over the thought of losing Castiel.

Such a tremor runs through him knowing that Dean had required that comfort. It’s upsetting, of course it is, but it’s also exhilarating, because it betrays how strongly Dean must feel for him. It’s more than incredible to know Dean feels the same way he does about the connection they share.

Dean is ducking back into the car now, rubbing his hands together and shivering, though it’s not cold. He must be affected by something else; perhaps whatever he and… Ellen? Yes, Ellen had just talked about.

“Did it go okay?” Castiel asks, watching Dean with apprehension. It’s entirely inappropriate how much he wants to kiss him right now. Dean glances over at him and smiles, all the anxiety dropping clean off his face.

“Yeah.” Dean says, blinking rapidly, like his bright green eyes are taking mini snapshots of Castiel in the gloom. “Let’s go home okay? ‘M tired.”

Castiel nods, the air sparking around him as it always does when he feels that energy between him and Dean. His words are full of unspoken promises, of beds shared, of limbs tangling in the dead of night, and both of them know it, though neither of them say a word. Dean starts the ignition, the revving of ‘baby’s’ engine the only noise in the near silent air.

The lights of the roadhouse flicker off as they drive away.

* * *

 

Castiel is tired, he hadn’t noticed before. He’s been too distracted to feel the weight of his own limbs growing heavier, his eyelids drooping, his breaths lengthening, growing deeper. And now it creeps up on him, cruel and unexpected, because he wants so badly to be alert, like he was on that second night with Dean, watching that same man crawl over him as he lay, trying desperately not to reach out to him, on his childhood bed.

He rests his head against the pane of glass beside him as the car glides down street after street, willing the cold pressure against his skull to revive him, but it doesn’t, and he sighs, cursing his infuriatingly human needs.

“So, uh.” Dean says, his voice husky, as though he hasn’t spoken in a while. “Where… do you live?”

Castiel sits upright, blinking at Dean. His head tilts before he can stop himself; he doesn’t understand the meaning behind Dean’s question. He’d just assumed Dean would take him back to wherever he lived. He’d said in the airport, as they waited for their flight to be called, his lips soft as they brushed Castiel’s ear, that he wanted nothing more at that moment to be back in his tiny apartment, making up for the lack of heating there by dragging Castiel underneath the covers of his bed and kissing him until it felt like they’d never be cold again.

It had sounded like an extremely good plan to him.

“I mean, uh, I’m assuming you wanna go back there right? I mean, I don’t want to, like- we can see each other tomorrow, or… or…” Dean is fumbling for his words, and it’s utterly beautiful. The flush colouring his cheeks is the colour of an apple, ripened for spring, and it fills Castiel with a hunger, so deep it’s like it’s gnawing at his very soul. Foolish Dean, who even after hearing Castiel’s many whispers about how much he wants this, still can’t bring himself to accept the idea that Castiel would just _want_ him, in every way he has to give. It would perhaps be saddening, if it weren’t already so enticing.

“Come home with me, Dean.”

His foot slips off the accelerator, skimming the brake pedal briefly, and making the car jump a little way. Castiel feels it all, a small smile on his lips because he knows he was the cause of that little mishap. Luckily for them, the back streets of Detroit are near deserted at this time in the morning, and so nobody even notices save for them. When Castiel looks up again, Dean is nodding, slowly, his eyes glued to the road ahead, disappearing under his tyres now that he’s righted the car.

“I- I can do that, yeah.” He replies, still not turning to meet Castiel’s stare.

Castiel just smiles at his profile, even Dean's silhouette beautiful enough to leave him breathless.

“It’s a right up ahead.”

Dean glances at him then, his pupils dilated as he grips the wheel tightly. Castiel smiles back readily, allowing his expression to confirm Dean's imaginings, and then he turns to look out of the window again. If only sleep could evade him for a few more hours.

* * *

 

At 2:45am on this fine Sunday morning, Dean finds himself staring at his own reflection in the enormous mirror that spans the length of Castiel’s bathroom wall above the sink. Even a panoramic view of himself does nothing to calm his nerves however, as he knows, with certainty this time, that Castiel himself is, right at this moment, lying on his bed, waiting for Dean to return.

Honestly, he thinks, plugging up the sink and turning the cold tap on with more force than necessary, you’d think after doing this once, he’d be less of  trembling wreck. Apparently the whole Castiel-is-so-beautiful-I-can-barely-look-let-alone-touch thing is going to take a while to fade. If it ever does. Right at this moment, Dean can’t imagine a time when he won’t find Castiel beyond his wildest imaginings in terms of hotness.

He plunges his cupped hands into the bowl of water as soon as it’s filled, and splashes his face quickly before he can properly feel how freezing it is. The result is a blinding shock as the water smothers him, and he only just resists shouting in reaction to the ferocious, biting cold. It barely even worked, he thinks crossly as he dries himself with one of Cas’s deliriously fluffy white towels, he still feels half-asleep. He’s been awake since around 8am, and even then he’d slept fitfully through the night in his Motel bed, thoughts of his argument with Cas chasing his dreams from him.

It’s all a bit of an anti-climax really, when he eventually musters up the courage to head back into the bedroom, and Castiel is under the covers, partially clothed, but sound asleep. Dean grins at the sight, and his heart swells as he realises that he and Cas must have been hiding their tiredness from each other, as both of them wanted to feel the other’s skin against theirs again so very badly.

Dean’s glad though, he truly is, because despite the fact he wants Cas so much he’s practically ready to dry hump the guy in his sleep, he knows that it will be so much better if they’re both rested, energised enough to love the other one with as much enthusiasm as they truly want to. Besides, they’ve got all the time in the world now, there’s no need to rush.

So, he casts a final glance around the adorably neat and pristine bedroom, soft nutmeg and white in colour, taking in the huge plasma sized window covered with blinds, because he wants to know Cas, wants to soak up every bit of him, and that includes his bedroom. Dean wonders briefly how many people have been allowed to see it. Not many, he would guess, because Escorts surely aren’t the most sought after boyfriends in the world. He strips off his t-shirt and jeans, letting them fall to the floor in a heap, because hey, he’s not going to start this relationship off neatly folding his clothes, just so later on Cas can complain at him, asking him why he never does it anymore. Nope, if Cas wants him - and wow that’s still something he’s not even a little bit used to - he’s going to have to accept that Dean is not a hospital-corners and laundry baskets kind of guy.

Grinning to himself, he climbs under the covers, Cas not even stirring despite the fact Dean jostles about quite a bit. He reaches behind him to shut off the lamp, and sighs happily, getting ready for the best part – wrapping himself around Cas in whatever way he can manage, and falling into the comfort of sleep.

* * *

 

Mortification is the primary emotion Castiel feels when his eyes flutter open at last. He wonders why there is always such a war of feelings raging within him whenever he wakes up in Dean’s arms, and then realises it’s because whatever other emotion he might feel, the overwhelming happiness of being in such a position at all almost completely outweighs it.

But yes, mortification. Mortification because he went and _fell asleep_ on the poor man last night, after he’d invited Dean back with him, fully aware that the implications of that were a night of ecstasy and passion, _followed_ by, not preceded by, sleep. Fortunately, Dean doesn’t appear to have taken too much offence, as he’s currently got one arm resting underneath Castiel’s neck, and the other draped over his waist, pulling him in so that he can bury his face in Cas’s hair. The position makes Castiel smile against Dean's collarbone, in spite of himself, and he decides that seeing as his hosting skills apparently leave something to be required, he’s going to need a pretty good way to repay the man he’s currently tangled up with.

He starts with his feet, wriggling his toes minimally so that they brush over Dean’s shins. He leans his head back as far as he can considering Dean’s arms are locked around him, and he looks up, just able to see Dean’s sleeping expression. He wriggles his toes again, and Dean’s face contorts a little, as though someone were tickling his nose with a feather.

Castiel only has one hand free, so he is at a slight disadvantage, but he moves it to Dean’s hip, pouting slightly when he finds boxers in his way, but quickly brushing it aside. He can’t complain too much, as he is wearing underwear himself, though in his defence, at the time he’d argued with himself that Dean would divest him of them shortly.

His fingers trail over Dean’s middle, skimming the soft skin, as smooth as buttercream beneath his fingertips. He longs to taste, but he’s held by Dean’s arms, and there are worse fates, there really are. Dean’s mouth parts as Castiel’s hand glides over the first jut of his ribcage, and Castiel marvels at it, wondering what other expressions he can coax out of the beautiful sleeping man with just his touch alone. His feet continue their game beneath the covers, trailing restlessly up and down Dean’s sparsely haired shins, his toes running daringly across the bottom of Dean’s foot, so that he jumps a little, still sleeping. Castiel moves his fingers higher, irritated by the top of Dean’s arm, the one that covers Castiel’s waist, which is in his way. It’s blocking his path, he wants to run his hands up Dean’s chest, smooth the planes of his pectoral muscles and then trail upwards, skim his fingernails over his neck, but he can’t.

Fortunately, it’s at that moment that Dean decides to break into the world of consciousness once more. He blinks sleepily, looking a little dazed, and then his eyes focus, taking in Castiel on the pillow beside him. His eyebrows rise so far up his forehead it’s a little comical, and Castiel smiles.

“H-hey.” Dean says, his voice sounding much lighter than Cas has ever heard it before. He draws his hand away from Cas’s waist, making Castiel frown, and brings it up to rub at his eyes. “You sleep well?” His hand falls away, movements languid, and he attempts to peer down at Castiel’s fingers on his chest. “What’re you doin to my-”

A sudden intake of breath cuts him off, the result of those same fingers, now free to move about as they please, sliding up over newly bared skin, brushing over his left nipple. Before Dean can speak again, Castiel surges forwards, a sly smile still in place, and presses his lips against Dean’s, perhaps with a tad too much force, as he ends up on top of Dean as a result.

Dean doesn’t seem too upset by it though, and he simply grabs at the nearest available bared skin, Castiel’s waist again, moaning quietly. Castiel’s tongue darts out to push against him, tasting and teasing until Dean opens his mouth, letting him in. Dean’s hands smooth up his back, gripping at his shoulderblades when they jut out as he moves, and Castiel hums in approval, the vibrations making their lips tremble. Castiel isn’t even holding himself up really, he’s just allowing himself to rest on top of Dean, letting his weight sink into the man below him because it pushes so much of their skin together, and he can’t bring himself to stop. If Dean is in discomfort though, he doesn’t say so, if anything he holds Castiel to him, tightly as if he might try and escape.

Castiel grinds down once, just to see how much of an effect his wake up call has made so far, and chuckles against Dean’s mouth when he feels how hard Dean is already, just from this. Dean whines against him, and nips Cas’s lip, probably in retaliation for the fact he’s basically laughing at Dean. It’s still a surprise though, as Dean has been nothing but gentle so far in their relationship, and so Castiel leans back, mouth parted to stare at him.

“What?” Dean asks, definitely sounding a little whiny. It makes Castiel smirk again, and lift his brows. “You bit _me_ before!”

“Yes, well.” Castiel replies, rolling off of Dean, skilfully sliding past his grabby hands as he does so until they’re side by side again. “I’m allowed.”

If Castiel had any doubts before, it’s now startlingly apparent that Dean is very much awake, and he growls, obviously not a fan of the new position where one of them isn’t directly below the other. “Oh yeah, and why’s that?” He asks, rolling over himself now, and it’s such a quick movement that Cas doesn’t have time to dodge him, so he ends up pinned, Dean on top of him, wrists held down either side of his head on the pillow as the man above him smirks.

Castiel glares at him from below, his tongue edging out to moisten his lips just because he wants to be a tease all of a sudden. “I’m-” Castiel starts to say, intending to respond to Dean’s question, but he’s cut off as Dean swoops down and kisses him, so hard and ferocious that it takes a minute for Cas’s mind to reorientate itself. He kisses back with fervour however, refusing to be outdone even if he is technically incapable of doing more than struggling against Dean’s hold at the moment. He bides his time, patient throughout Dean’s slow exploration of his mouth with teeth and tongue, shudders running through him every time Dean’s hips move because he’s directly on top of his crotch and he _knows_ it, the bastard.

Really, Dean shouldn’t even be surprised when Castiel seizes the opportunity to bite down hard on the lip caught between his teeth. He lets out a yelp, jerking backwards, swearing and chuckling because he knows he lost.

“I was going to say, that _I’m_ allowed because I’m marking my territory.” Castiel says, trying hard to keep his voice even, despite the fact he feels completely ravaged. He wills Dean to come and lean over him again, to touch him, bite him, who cares, he just needs contact. Dean catches the glint in his eye, and smiles, like he knows what he's doing.

“That so?” He asks, and Castiel nods, perhaps a little too fervently to be considered entirely patient. “Well then, how do I mark _my_ territory?”

Castiel just groans in frustration, not moving his wrists because he wants Dean to come and pin him there again, though he’d never admit it. Instead, he turns his head up and to the left, baring his neck so that Dean can be reminded of the litany of bruises staining the skin there. It seems to do the trick.

Dean moves like a cobra, lunging forwards back into his position over Cas, his biceps straining and prominent as he holds himself over the Angel, and then he’s ducking down, their chests sliding together as Dean mouths at those same purplish marks, teeth scraping the tender skin so that they’ll be there for longer, last for weeks and weeks and-

_Oh._ The thought of Dean’s tattoo, rubbing itself against the pale skin of Castiel’s breastbone, it’s making him a little erratic, and his eyelids flutter as he feels Dean’s tongue massaging against him on top of it all.

“Dean…” Castiel hears himself say, though he’s not entirely sure why. Dean kisses upwards, moving his ‘special’ attention to Cas’s jaw, and then kissing along the line of his stubble until they’re mouth to mouth again, breathing together as Dean pushes his hips down. Finally, is all Castiel can think as he feels the jut of Dean’s erection against his own, boxers or not, it still has him practically spasming.

“Cas… ‘m gonna take these off you now.” Dean breathes, the words very nearly lost in Castiel’s mouth, and he doesn’t understand their meaning until Dean’s slipping his fingers under the waistband of his underwear, his roughened thumbs setting off fireworks against his skin.

Castiel just whimpers, nodding frantically so that their lips miss each other, and Dean’s kissing his nose and chin a couple of times. Honestly, Castiel manages to think, out of the blue, as Dean leans backwards a little way, it’s like all his training has flown out the window when it comes to Dean Winchester; it was hopeless to believe he could have ever seen this man naked and not become the trembling wreck that he is right now.

Just like that, Dean’s kissing his way down Castiel’s stomach, moving his hands away to pin his hips firmly in place, down onto the mattress, so he's helpless, unable to move. He doesn't stop the trail of kisses at the hem of his underwear, he just continues downwards until he’s mouthing at the cotton covering his straining cock, his full, kiss-blown lips moulding against the now-dampened outline as Castiel mewls underneath him, one hand flying out to grip his hair. It seems like Castiel is gasping for air one moment, and the next he’s completely naked, Dean having ripped the boxers away in an apparently effortless motion.

There are no words to describe the pure exhilarative shock of feeling Dean’s mouth around the bared, swollen flesh of his dick; stars dance across Castiel’s eyes and he blinks away hot, uncontrollable wetness gathering in his ducts as Dean sucks him once, pulling off far too quickly so that his pointed tongue can trace the underside. The barest hint of teeth is apparent as he slowly works his way up to the head, his lips stuttering over the glans so that Cas shudders and screws his eyes shut.

A puff of air fans out over the moistened shaft, and Castiel whimpers, trying his damndest to stay in control despite the fact he can barely think straight. “You okay there baby?” Dean is asking, voice husky and so, so sinfully delicious as he peers up at Castiel’s tortured face from between his legs. Cas just shoots him a look that he hopes conveys his need for Dean to get on with it, and yes, he’s aware he’s being a bit of a diva. Dean chuckles again, his breath fanning over the heated, reddened skin, but he does as Cas silently requests, and dives back in.

Castiel thinks he must swear when Dean swallows him fully again, because he feels Dean laughing even with his mouth full, and the tremors do _wonderful_ things to him. He quickly realises that screwing his eyes shut is not the best way to get the most out of this situation, because there is literally an emerald-eyed creature of godlike beauty sucking on his dick right now, and that deserves his fullest attention. Dean peers up at him, managing to smirk with only his eyes, as his flushed cheeks hollow, mouth sliding up and down in careful, slow strokes so that Castiel bangs his head down on the pillow once in frustration. Dean winks at him when he resurfaces, continuing the steady pace for a while, and then teasing him by speeding up every few seconds, only to regulate himself again quickly afterward.

Just as Castiel is about to scream in vexation from being unable to move his hips, Dean removes his right hand, reaching down to grab the base of Cas’s cock as he speeds up, unable to maintain eye contact now as he furiously works himself up and down. Castiel watches helplessly, propping himself up on his elbows because he couldn’t tear his eyes away _now,_ this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, even if he does feel like he’s about to burst into flames of ecstasy from the white hot pleasure coursing through his entire body.

His orgasm is moments away, he can feel it brushing against his nerve endings, teasing him with its proximity, and he moans, hands reaching out for Dean even though he’s right there. A string of words is escaping his mouth, nonsense of course, but with the recurring themes of ‘Dean, fuck, holy shit, oh, Dean, so hot, more, _Dean_ …”

It takes a sweep of Dean’s clever, fickle little tongue over his frenulum, and then he’s coming, shouting something undoubtedly obscene into the (thankfully) empty apartment. His orgasm rips through him mercilessly, and he seizes up, eyes closed as Dean swallows him down, tongue still swirling around him to catch every last drop.

He wishes he could say he’s joking when he only finds himself orientated enough to drink in his surroundings again a full minute later. Dean’s lying beside him, propped up on one elbow so he can stare down at Cas’s utterly blissed out state, a massive fucking grin on his face because he’s a beautiful asshole. Castiel groans at him, choosing to bury his face in the vicinity of his favourite tattoo rather than acknowledge the fact Dean just sucked him into a state of near semi-consciousness.

“Where did you learn to _do_ that?!” Castiel asks, and he’s aware his voice is probably only just decipherable considering he’s pressed against Dean’s chest. It does mean he gets an interesting rendition of Dean’s laugh though, reverberating through his ribcage, twining a melody with his pounding heart.

“Everyone’s gotta have a hobby.” Is Dean’s only reply, and Castiel groans again because firstly, that’s not an acceptable answer, and he _will_ get it out of Dean where he learnt to give such incredible blowjobs; but second, it’s _him,_ not Dean that’s supposed to be the sex expert here. Sexpert, if you will.

Castiel grits his teeth, hearing Dean laugh again, and makes a snap decision. He needs to re-establish authority in this bed – after all, it is _his_ bed. Smirking to only himself, he lays his palms flat against Dean’s chest and pushes hard, shoving Dean away from him enough so that he can wriggle his way free. He rolls away from Dean, taking great satisfaction in seeing that the other man is still rock hard, even after spending what was probably a lifetime watching Cas come down from his high.

Don’t worry baby, Castiel thinks as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, I'll make sure it was worth it.

He gets up slowly to the sound of Dean’s disbelieving chuckle, taking it easy because his legs still feel a bit like jello, but also because he’s perfectly aware he has a damn fine ass, and Dean’s got a great view of it. Sure enough, Dean’s breath hitches as Cas stands, but then he’s walking away, moving around the bed towards the door of the bathroom, maybe wiggling his hips a little, so sue him, and Dean is making choked noises of protest and despair.

“What? Where you goin’?!” Dean calls after him, and Castiel smiles but doesn’t turn back, heading into the bathroom without a word. “C’mon Cas!” He hears in a pleading tone from the bedroom as he flings open a cupboard door. “What, cause I gave you the best blowjob you ever had, you’re _mad_ at me now?!”

Castiel grins, shaking his head slowly in disbelief at the man's oxymoronic simultaneous self-deprecation and immodesty. He grabs the bottle he’s looking for, straightening up and checking himself over in the mirror once, just to stall for time, make Dean squirm a little. After an embarrassingly short while though, he realises that was a stupid plan, because he can’t stay away from Dean when he knows the state he's left him in, so he saunters back out to him, finding Dean in the centre of the bed, slightly spread out, and palming himself through his boxers because he’s damn impatient, that’s what.

“Ahem.” Castiel coughs, and Dean looks up at him, flushing a little. Castiel holds up the bottle in between his thumb and forefinger, and Dean gulps, eyes raking up and down Cas’s naked body unashamedly, seemingly because he can’t help it, and Castiel smirks. “It’s funny, I was perhaps a little inebriated… but I seem to remember you liked this part a lot last time.” Castiel muses aloud as he meanders over towards the bed, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounds now. Dean’s eyes are wide, flicking between Cas and the bottle like a pendulum, his mouth open as he takes laboured breaths.

Castiel stands at the foot of the bed, popping the cap of the lube open and pouring a generous amount – more than necessary if he’s honest – onto his fingers. “Are y- are you gonna… do you have a condom, C-cas?” Dean manages to get out, and his entire face is flushed pink, which means obviously Cas’s intentions to get back in the saddle are working. He rubs his hands together carefully, spreading the silky gel across his fingers, and flicks his gaze up to Dean, smirking still.

“Bedside drawer.” He intones, purposefully low because he might play dumb, but he knows what his voice does to Dean, he can see it in his reactions. He places a knee on the bed either side of Dean then, straddling him, legs spread apart as he kneels over him.

Dean’s so busy jumping to attention the literal nanosecond Castiel tells him where to find the condoms that he misses the first slippery finger making its way downwards, pressing itself against Cas’s hole as he kneels above Dean, over his legs. Castiel moans at the intrusion though, unable to help himself because he’s still sensitive, riled up from before, and Dean freezes, fingers grasping the foil packet halfway out of the drawer. He whips his head round quickly, and Cas swears he hears his heart hammering as he takes in what he sees; Castiel spearing himself on his own finger, drawing it slowly in and out, moving his hips down to meet his knuckle as he does so.

His other hand presses itself against his pale chest, dragging his fingers down over the expanse of bared, sweat beaded skin as he fucks himself, and Dean gulps, looking painfully hard from what Cas can see, considering he’s peering through half-lidded eyes at underwear-covered skin.

“Dean,” Castiel pants as he continues opening himself, and Dean moans, fingers still clutching the condom in mid-air as he watches Cas add another finger, “underwear… off…”

For a moment Castiel thinks he might need to repeat himself, because Dean just stares steadfastly at the sight of Castiel’s fingers disappearing inside of him, right above his own shins, but it seems he was only gathering himself, as he suddenly moves, hands tugging his boxers down as far as they’ll go without disrupting Cas’s movements, and using his legs to kick them off the rest of the way. Cas can’t help but smile around his own pants as he takes in the sight of Dean’s hardness, a straining curve up towards his stomach as it stands, waiting.

“Caaas… c’mon man, you’re killin’ me here.” Dean moans, and he strokes himself lightly, only succeeding in earning himself a slap from Castiel’s unoccupied hand. But the truth is that he’s near enough ready now, he’s done this enough times that he doesn’t need a third finger, he’ll adjust, and he wants so badly to come on Dean’s cock again, like they did before, but this time, he wants to be the one in control.

"C-condom." Castiel huffs, and Dean seems to suddenly remember the packet in his hand, bringing it to his mouth with no hesitation. His teeth tear it open and Cas closes his eyes, blocking his own view of the condom going on, because Dean touching himself is too much to bear along with everything else. He's in control here, dammit. 

Dean's strangled cry of frustration is the signal that he's done, and Cas's eyes flutter open again, seeing the condom firmly in place now, though Dean's hands lay patiently by his sides, and it makes Cas smile. Dean's apparently as on board with the Cas being-in-charge thing as he is. 

At least getting hard again was no problem, Castiel thinks idly as he removes his fingers at last, sucking in a breath and locking eyes with Dean as he walks forwards on his knees. He'd felt himself twitching in desire again almost as soon as he’d seen Dean laying spread out, alone on his bed when he returned from the bathroom. Now they’re in a similar state of arousal, both desperate for release, in each other, though perhaps Dean a little more so.

Castiel lines himself up easily, pushing his hands down on Dean’s shoulders as he lowers himself carefully onto Dean’s cock, swallowing his thickness up inch by inch, and relishing the slight burn as it comes, sure as ever, a reminder of the reality of this moment, of Dean’s solid, sure presence beneath him.

It’s been said a couple of times before perhaps that Castiel is a tad impatient during sex, so it's hardly surprising that after a moment, the easing himself down thing isn’t really doing it for him anymore. He pushes his hips down more sharply, and Dean cries out, hands flying to grab at Castiel’s hipbones as he sits fully on top of Dean now, the man fully sheathed inside of him at last. They lock eyes again and Dean moans just from that, the piercing green of his eyes battling with Cas’s.

Castiel wiggles a little, because he’s impatient suddenly; Dean seems to be holding him in place almost, and that’s just a hindrance. “Wait, wait Cas, hold up..” Dean babbles, squeezing his eyes shut, and Cas stops obediently, though he’s a little irritated about it. “Just… I’m gonna blow if you move, just stay still for one second…”

Castiel laughs then, and the vibrations of it must do something to how their bodies are connected, because Dean swears loudly, one hand relinquishing Cas's hip so he can bite down on his knuckles. “My apologies.” Castiel says, a giggle still in his voice. He rolls his eyes impatiently, heart practically humming in his chest from the thrill of what's about to happen, and he mimes checking his watch just because he’s that hilarious, though Dean doesn’t see, what with his eyes being closed and all.

Then, in a split second he’s staring at Cas again, face hard, and full of determination. “Okay.” Dean grits out, nodding furiously at Cas. “Go.”

Another snap decision is made in Cas’s mind; they are way past the point of going slowly by now. Plus he’s showing that he can just as easily make Dean lose _his_ mind, right? That sorted, Castiel grins wolfishly and starts moving, Dean’s head throwing itself backwards as Castiel lifts himself up and slams down again on Dean’s cock, rolling his hips around in circular motions as he rides him, speeding up as he goes because he wants to take Dean deeper, wants to find that place that will make him see stars again…

He changes the angle, and Dean helps, thrusting upwards in time with him, his hands on Cas’s hips still, pulling him downwards again and again. They’re both making noises that neither of them would want to admit to, bursts of staccato pleasure as they feel the rippling sensations of each other’s bodies. Cas shifts again, biting his lip in anticipation and- _there._

He cries out Dean’s name when he hits his prostate, and Dean’s eyes fly open at the sound. They don’t slow, Dean pounding his hips upwards even as Cas flies down onto him over and over, the smell of sweat and come thick in the air around them. Dean’s face is shiny, beads of moisture drip down from his hair and collect in his collarbone, his pupils are so dilated the green is just a thin strip of chartreuse by now, and he stares at Cas with a kind of yearning desperation, but honestly, in Castiel’s eyes he’s never looked more beautiful.

“Cas…” Dean whispers, as if responding to Castiel’s own name-calling, and it’s this one word, the nickname a near-stranger gave him four days ago, falling from bitten, ruby red lips that pushes Castiel over the edge, tumbling, freefalling into his high, and he’s coming, splashing his seed all over himself and Dean’s chest, though the man currently inside of him doesn’t seem to particularly care. It occurs to him, as he spirals through the sensations, that he came without being touched.

Cas’s contracting muscles are enough to have Dean spasming shortly after, his hips snapping upwards a couple more times, and then Dean too is coming, his hands sliding up to Cas’s waist and pulling him sharply down as he does so, so that Cas is lying on top of him as he fills the condom, hips still moving in a way that makes Cas want to cry out again, if he didn’t think he’d lost his voice by now. They lie still for a moment, Cas’s face level with Dean’s sweat-dampened neck, and as soon as he is able, he presses a soft kiss there. 

Dean manages another chuckle, and Castiel smiles too, rolling off Dean so that he pulls out with a soft pop. Cleanup is not entirely simple, and really they should have thought it through beforehand, but who on earth _actually_ thinks about that stuff beforehand? The covers long since got pushed to the very edge of the bed, and Castiel thinks about retrieving them, but they’re both sticky, and covers would be unpleasant, so he doesn’t. Plus, this way he gets to see naked Dean Winchester in all his glory.

He does feel awfully damp though. He rolls towards Dean, tracing a finger through the nearly-dried come on his abdomen. Dean raises an eyebrow at the gesture. “Dean?” Castiel asks, trying to go for innocence now, and he bats his lashes for added effect. Dean outright laughs at him, probably on account of the fact he’s just witnessed all of the kinky things Cas has just been up to.

“Yes, Castiel?”

Cas wrinkles his nose, scooting closer so he can bury his face in Dean’s shoulder. It works out well, because Dean begins methodically carding a hand through his hair. “Don’t call me that.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to crease his brow in confusion. “Huh? Call you what? Castiel? That’s your name!”

“No.”

“No?” Dean is smiling now, Cas can tell, and it’s annoying. It’s also really cute.

“No. You call me Cas.”

“Ah. I see. Okay, then. Yes, _Cas?_ ”

Cas smiles against Dean’s shoulder, turning it into an outright grin when he feels Dean leaning over to press a kiss to the top of his head. He tilts his face up, immersing himself in cosmic green. “Would you like to take a shower with me?”

There's a slight pause, Dean's eyebrows raised high up his forehead as he processes what's being asked of him. 

“Oh hell yes.”

Really, Castiel couldn’t have asked for a better response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and also, I'm sorry if I'm not posting quite as regularly - I'll try and update as soon as possible, but I'm at crunch time with college, I hope you guys understand. Honestly though, if I'm not posting, I'm writing furiously and cursing myself at the same time haha. Kisses to you all x


	19. Epilogue [Part 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel knew this part would be difficult. At least now he has something to hold onto as he rides the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday morning rain is falling...  
> Steal some covers, share some skin...

“I like Sunday mornings.” Castiel says happily as he snuggles up beside Dean again, both of them damp and sated, but warm as they drape themselves in thick towels, before burying themselves under the covers of his bed.

“Hmm, yeah I think they’re growin’ on me.” Dean replies, smiling down at Cas as he nuzzles into Dean’s neck, one of the Angel's arms thrown over his waist.

It’s true really; Dean is used to hating Sundays in general, because that’s the day when the garage is closed, and it leaves him adrift, at a loss for how to fill his empty time. But now he has Cas, so he can already tell that Sundays will be the highlight of his week. Or at least, they will be if they’re anything like this.

“You goin’ into work tomorrow?” Dean asks, bringing a hand up to comb through Cas’s dark hair. Cas frowns against his skin, burying further into him as though he’s hiding from the thought.

Dean just snickers, trailing his fingers down Cas’s neck to relax him, and the Angel sighs, warm and pliant against him once more. “I suppose I must.”

The thought is a disconcerting one, and it immediately makes Dean anxious, because try as they might to hide from the world, here in Cas’s bedroom, pretending that their actions don’t have consequences, eventually reality is going to permeate their perfect little bubble. In fact, it seems Cas is going to go ahead and burst that bubble himself, tomorrow morning no less.

“Cas… I know you don’t like me asking this, but are you _sure_ you wanna go through with this? This job is your life, man-”

Cas pulls away from him, frowning deeper now, a cross expression on his face, and he silences Dean with his hand, clamping it over his mouth. It is, unfortunately, mildly arousing as well as having the effect of being a tad intimidating, and Dean curses his overly sex-hungry body for reacting to the movement. Though really, it's almost undoubtedly _Cas_ that gets him so riled up, it would hardly matter if he was sitting on the other side of the room playing solitaire, even the slightest action from this beautiful creature can drive him insane.

“ _You’re_ my life now, Dean. I couldn’t possibly be without you now, and my so-called career prevents that from being a reality. So it has to go.” Castiel says, a passion in his voice that tells Dean this is not some snap decision he made on a whim. Well at least he’s thought this through, Dean supposes, though he's still not happy.

He can’t handle this level of sacrifice, not from anyone, and especially not from Cas. It’s too much, Cas is basically throwing away everything he’s ever known, and he wants to pin him down, tie him up somewhere - kinky thoughts aside - so that he _can’t_ do it, and so that later on he won’t be disappointed, when Dean isn’t everything he thought he was.

“I can see your mind convincing you you’re not worth this.” Castiel comments, and his face is creased as he scrutinises Dean’s nervous expression. “Tell me Dean, how many times do I have to kiss you before you understand that I’m completely in love with you?”

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but at that same moment, his mind catches up with his ears, processing what he’s just heard. His mouth stays open, eyes wide and staring as he takes in Cas beside him. What did he just say?

“You… you what?” Dean stutters out, knuckles whitening as he grips Cas's upper arm.

Castiel breaks into a smile, a thousand stars lighting up somewhere in a far-away galaxy as he shakes his head fondly, staring at Dean with the kind of emotion that’s not supposed to be possible outside of a Disney movie. “Did you honestly think I wasn’t, by this point?” Castiel is asking, and it might be rhetorical, it might not, it doesn’t really matter because Dean is speechless either way. “Dean, if someone gives everything up for you, stands up for you against every odd, and all but willingly throws down their very well-built defence for you, and you alone, don’t you think the love is kind of a given?”

Dean swallows, staring for a while longer because he can’t speak, he may never be able to again. Castiel is an Angel, maybe not a real one, with wings and halos and waves of celestial intent, but he’s otherworldly nonetheless, certainly out of Dean’s world. How could an Angel as beautiful, as bright and utterly perfect as the one beside him possibly be declaring such an absurd notion? People like Castiel don’t fall in love with people like Dean. It doesn’t happen, his father has drilled it into him so many times he’s lost count.

He shouldn’t be allowed this, the happily ever after, the arms of an Angel. Why him? He sits up abruptly, because Cas is too close all of a sudden, sucking all of the air and light out of the room with his brilliance, and Dean has to clasp his knees to his chest, burying his face in them and willing himself to calm down. Castiel loves him, that’s what he said, and it goes against everything he knows, all possible laws of the universe according to John Winchester, but that _is_ what Cas just said.

Right, Dean thinks, the breaths hissing through his teeth as he sucks them in, if that's what the idiot has gone and decided to do, I’m gonna spend every damn moment of my life trying to make sure he doesn’t regret falling for me.

He feels an anxious arm slipping around his shoulders, rubbing him soothingly because from the outside it probably looks like he’s having a panic attack. Well, maybe he is, who knows? He senses Cas must be sitting upright beside him too now, so he lifts his head, finding the Angel’s face near to his own, and kisses him, clutching the back of his head and drawing it out, trying desperately to make it last.

“I love you too, Cas.” Dean mumbles against his lips, and Castiel smiles, tongue flicking out to tease him.

“Shut up and kiss me here instead.”

* * *

 

As expected perhaps, walking into Crowley’s office on Monday morning with the intention of quitting his job, not to mention informing the British man he’s not charging Dean for the time they spent together, is not a fun prospect.

It helps a little however, that Anna agreed to meet with him beforehand. Or rather, it would, were it not for the fact she brought Gabriel with her.

“Hello Anna.” Castiel says as he sits opposite her at the table. They are about a block away from the Heaven & Hell Escorts building, in a coffee shop he frequents with Anna before or after their appointments there. He’s more than aware that he’s a little more guarded with his closest friend than usual, but in his defence, her last voicemail message was a bit much, and she undoubtedly knows it. “Hello Gabriel.”

Gabriel grins heartily at him from Anna’s side, one hand tangled in her red hair as he lounges atypically on his chair, drumming a beat onto the table with his fingers. He notices nothing amiss about the tension in the air, as per usual.

There’s a moment of elongated silence once they are all sat, and Anna looks the most uncomfortable out of all three of them, shifting in her seat until she seemingly can’t bear it any longer.

“Castiel I’m sorry.” She says, leaning forwards as the words burst from her mouth. She reaches across the table for his hand, and he lets her take hold of it, ready to listen to what she has to say because years of friendship cancel out one error on her part. “That message I left you… I see now, I was being selfish. So terribly selfish in asking you to stay at H&H, I’d just miss you so much if you left, and I let it cloud my rationality-”

“Woah, slow down there, sugar. He gets it.” Gabriel interrupts her, laughing, and he clicks his fingers at a nearby waiter, who then places a very glazed, swirly looking pastry down before him, smelling deliciously of cinnamon. Gabriel wastes no time in stuffing a huge bite into his mouth, grinning around it as he takes in Anna’s mildly disgusted expression. “T’ll jhm brrt yrr idarr.”

Castiel’s brow creases as he struggles to make out what Gabriel just said, and brushes a few pastry crumbs that flew from his fellow Angel’s lips in the process off of his trenchcoat. “Anna, would you care to translate?” Castiel asks, smiling a little because despite his nerves, he’s only recently left Dean’s arms, and it’s difficult to be anything other than on cloud nine for extended periods of time as a result.

Anna whips her head round to face Castiel, untangling Gabriel’s hand from her hair as she does so, and she smiles back at Cas, eagerly lapping up the affection he bestows. She wants badly to know she’s forgiven, Cas observes.

“He said, um,” Anna begins, darting a look at Gabriel, who is now using both hands to devour his pastry, but stops to give her two flaky thumbs up in encouragement, “he said that I should tell him about my idea.”

Well that’s certainly unexpected, Castiel thinks, and he lets his own gaze drift to Gabriel for a moment, before looking away quickly as the sight is difficult to bear. The so-called Archangel has icing dripping off his chin. “Idea?”

Anna nods quickly, and she looks down at their touching hands, blushing a little so that Castiel’s eyebrows raise. “Yes, well, if you are really set on the whole… quitting thing…” Anna begins, and Castiel nods firmly to signal that he is definitely set on that part. “I just had a thought about an-an-an alternative? That you could set up, maybe, because… well, you like to help people, and you’re organised and good at stuff like this, and I’m just kinda… ditzy, and a bit _flaky_ I dunno…”

Gabriel barks a laugh at that, flicking some pastry flakes off his plate towards Anna, because that’s his idea of a pun. Castiel just rolls his eyes, and Anna glares at him.

“Gabriel I swear to God, I’m gonna start locking you in the apartment when I go out. This is all your fault in the first place!” Anna hisses at her… boyfriend? Castiel isn’t sure what they’re referring to themselves as. Gabriel smirks at her, licking icing off his fingers. “If you could have restrained yourself from texting Castiel and urging him to ruin his career none of this would have happened!”

Gabriel opens his mouth to retort, but Castiel decides he needs to interrupt. “Actually, I’m almost entirely certain it _would_ have happened anyway, regardless of Gabriel’s involvement. I would have given into my feelings for Dean sooner or later.”

Anna looks a little red at that, and she looks apologetically at Castiel, signalling that she didn’t mean to undermine his feelings for the person she’s never met. In a lot of ways, Castiel can understand Anna’s difficulty getting her head round the situation, she probably feels the same way now that Cas did a week ago about this sort of thing. That client-Escort relationships are not to be taken further than the original business agreement, and that nothing can change that. But then again, she hasn’t experienced the kind of profound bonding that he and Dean share.

“Babe, you know full well that there is no way you could cope without me now, the sex is way too awesome.” Gabriel says casually, bringing his plate up before his face so he can lick off the crumbs. Anna places her head in her hands and sighs loudly.

“Anna,” Castiel says gently, ignoring Gabriel, as he moves his hand on top of hers, “tell me your idea.”

* * *

 

Nausea bubbles steadily in the pit of Castiel’s stomach as he’s swept up in the Heaven elevator, squeezing his eyes shut against the gaudily painted interior, and seeing only Bela’s cruel smirk imprinted onto his eyelids. It was as if she knew, seeing him enter the building, that he is deep in trouble. That’s something Castiel could never quite figure out about this place, he thinks glumly as the elevator pings to a halt, possibly for the last time he’ll ever hear it – is Bela Talbot on the Heaven or Hell side? He supposes he'll never get to find out for sure.

He steps out into the familiar vacant room, marching swiftly over to Chuck’s desk because he needs to talk to the man pronto, while he’s still got the echo of Anna’s words bouncing off of the walls in his mind. He wishes Dean were here, he’s sure it wouldn’t be half as nerve-wracking with his easy, false-confident cocky attitude to grip onto.

Chuck’s eyes widen in frantic surprise as he sees Castiel approaching. Oh I’m sure that’s a good sign, Castiel thinks sarcastically, but he doesn’t stop walking until he’s looming over the small, dishevelled writer-to-be.

“C-castiel! Is it true? What Anna and Gabriel and… well… _everyone_ is saying?!” Chuck asks, peering up at Castiel through thick-rimmed, square, black glasses. Castiel just holds his gaze, his jaw set and firm. Chuck leans closer, lowering his voice to a whisper and glancing towards Crowley’s closed door to make sure they’re not heard. “Are you _quitting_?!”

It’s no surprise really that Chuck is so disbelieving of Castiel’s actions right now. Nobody quits this job, not really, and sure, occasionally people are fired if they misbehave – usually Demons, although Crowley does have a soft spot for them, so they get away with more than they should – but quitting itself is practically unheard of. Why would you want to? The pay is excellent provided Crowley doesn’t take some for himself, and going on dates for a living is hardly a taxing job, especially when you can pretty much be your own boss… to an _extent._

Sure, people hate working here, Escorts aren’t the most socially accepted of people, but nobody _actually_ wants to leave, the idea barely even crosses anyone’s mind.

“Yes, it’s all true.” Castiel replies simply, and Chuck’s jaw drops open. He blinks a few times and then leans backwards, pulling open his drawer to grab his bottle of whiskey. He takes a sip, wincing, and offers the bottle to Castiel, who refuses politely. “Well fuck me.” Chuck breathes, staring at Castiel with a kind of awe. “Becky’s gonna be _pissed.”_

Castiel grimaces at the name. He’d almost forgotten Becky, the immature young woman who’d paid four thousand dollars for two dates in the course of two weeks, merely to talk to him about fangirling and shipping characters from her favourite TV shows. Castiel finds it difficult to believe that Becky’s displeasure at him leaving is a bad thing.

He realises quickly that Chuck is still talking. About Becky, no less. “…and she read my book, y’know after we exchanged IM addresses. She was actually really cool about the whole thing! Though she did say that she thought the main two characters should form a gay attachment…”

Castiel decides to humour Chuck for the moment. After all, this motivation is good, he needs it for his plan to work. “Well, couldn’t they?”

Chuck spits some whiskey out of his mouth, spewing a few droplets over his computer keyboard. “What?! They’re _brothers_ Castiel!”

“Oh. I see.” Castiel’s brow furrows. Becky certainly is a strange young woman. He shakes thoughts of her off for now. “Listen, Chuck, I need to talk to you. Urgently.”

Chuck gulps, setting down his bottle on the table. Castiel draws himself upright; this just got serious.

* * *

 

“Castiel.”

It’s an immediate bad sign that Crowley knows his name when he walks into the office. People must have been talking, snitching to Crowley about the rumours of Castiel’s intentions. Probably Meg, or maybe Lucifer. Actually, it's perhapsh less likely to be Meg; she seems to have been growing fonder of him recently, though why that might be is anyone's guess.

“Mr Crowley.” Castiel acknowledges politely, shutting the door behind himself and wishing badly that he didn’t have to. Crowley looks up from whatever he’s scribbling onto a pad on his enormous desk, catching Castiel’s eye and gesturing for him to take a seat.

It’s with a huge, shuddering breath, and the image of the crinkles around Dean’s eyes when he smiles that allows Castiel to pluck up the courage to remain standing, basically ignoring Crowley’s request. Moments pass, Castiel not sitting in the indicated chair, and Crowley’s eyes narrow infinitesimally.

“Actually sir, I’ve come to hand in my notice.” Castiel blurts out, the words falling over themselves despite his best efforts to stay calm. He glances out the window to Crowley’s left, letting the view of the city, stretching for miles around, calm him. Dean is out there somewhere, Castiel thinks, eyes searching the lego-sized buildings, as if he might be able to spot him from here.

“Is that so?” Crowley asks, dragging Castiel’s attention back again, and he leans back in is armchair, hands clasped together as he runs his gaze over Castiel. He’s smirking a little, and it betrays him; he knew this moment was coming, Castiel was right, someone has clearly told Crowley that Castiel planned to leave the company today. The question is, what else did that someone tell him? Castiel maintains eye contact, just barely, and nods. “Well,” Crowley sighs, shaking his head as if he’s terribly saddened by the news, “it’s a great shame to lose you Castiel. You’re one of my top Angels. You could have gone far.”

Castiel smiles as politely as he can manage, every one of his muscles rigid as he waits for Crowley’s explosive reaction. Instead, Crowley opens a drawer to his right, pulling out a sheet of paper, and slides it across the door to Castiel.

“You’ll need to fill that out then, if you’d be so kind.” Crowley says in a bored tone, plucking a pen out of a pot nearby and extending his hand so that Castiel can retrieve it. This in itself is another sure signal that something is very wrong; Crowley never bestows this much attention on anyone, let alone lends someone his pen, not to mention someone who is _quitting_ and thereby losing him money. “It’s just your basic expenses, final clients, _reasons_ for your decision…. Blah blah.”

It’s the smirk in his voice that has Castiel looking up, a bead of traitorous sweat trickling down his hairline. So he knows. He’s all too aware of Castiel’s rule-bending, of his fraternising with a client. He just can’t accuse him of it, so he’s got to make Castiel admit to it on his own, in his own words no less.

“I could just… tell you about my final clients.” Castiel suggests, having made no move to retrieve either the form or the pen offered to him. Crowley’s eyes narrow again, but he shrugs, gesturing yet again to the seat in front of the desk, and Castiel feels he has no choice now but to take it. He sits awkwardly, in freefall for a split second because he forgot how low the chair is. He clears his throat, setting his hands carefully in his lap. “On Monday of last week I was with Pamela Barnes…”

Castiel recounts his date with Pamela, and the following night’s date with Becky in great, specific detail, even rattling off the name of the ATM he paid the cash in to both times. But he stops there, his heart hammering, because he can’t go on, Wednesday was when he met Dean, and if he acknowledges that to Crowley, and Crowley learns that he’s not charging Dean, he might not make it out of here alive.

“And?” Crowley prompts, when Castiel’s mouth clamps shut, his fingernail digging into the skin of his hand because he’s that nervous.

“And what?” Castiel asks stupidly, half-knowing it’s futile. Crowley scoffs at him, and Castiel winces, leaning back a little way. He wonders if he smells like Dean, if Crowley can tell he’s been curled up in bed with him for all of Sunday and two nights.

“And what about your other clients?!” Crowley shouts, not bothering to mask his anger behind a false ignorance now. Castiel remains quiet, and Crowley grimaces, turning to his computer and clicking a few times until he pulls up the right page. He stabs a sausage finger at the screen. “Dean Winchester, is that him? He was your client, yes?”

Castiel chews his lip, eyes darting left and right, searching frantically for anything that could possibly help him right now. There’s nothing in this cold, lavishly decorated yet soulless room, and he sighs, looking heavenward before nodding once.

“For four bloody days, is that correct?!” Crowley asks, even louder now, and Castiel jumps as his boss springs from his chair, into what he first thinks is a crouch, but upon closer inspection is just him standing up. Castiel just nods again, running his hands over his face as he contemplates what the hell he’s going to do now; he has to think fast. “Well then do you _mind telling me_ , Castiel, why in the _hell_ you thought you could QUIT on me without paying me seven _thousand seven hundred_ bloody dollars?!”

Castiel opens his mouth wide, about to interject and tell Crowley he’s at the very least he’s got the figure wrong and that’s something.

“Oh no, don’t even _try_ telling me you didn’t fuck his brains out Castiel, that’s an extra seventeen hundred, now quit DICKING AROUND!” Crowley shouts, his face flushed as he leans over his desk towards Castiel, fury in his expression. Castiel could swear his eyes flash red for one surreal moment. “I WANT MY MONEY.”

That’s it, even with the mahogany monstrosity separating them, Crowley is still too close for comfort, and Castiel jumps up from his own chair, moving around to stand behind it, just for the sake of having something else between them both. “Mr Crowley, I will pay you back every _cent,_ out of my own pocket, if you’ll just leave Dean and I in peace-”

“Castiel Novak, you listen to me,” Crowley interrupts, and Castiel’s blood runs cold as he hears his own last name tumbling from his boss’s lips, “as of the day I found you in that seedy little bar in Soho, when you were eighteen and still handing out sloppy blowjobs to anyone who bought you a cherry daiquiri, you are _my_ Angel, _my_ property, and Dean Winchester is going to PAY FOR WHAT HE STOLE FROM ME.”

Castiel doesn’t realise he’s crying until the tears drip off his chin. Just two tears, like a betrayal from his own body, born of anger, of humiliation, because he thought his past was buried, that no one remembered what he’d done when he was too young and stupid to know any better. Especially not Crowley, the man who couldn’t even seem to remember his name each week.

He remembers that time in his life, though it’s blurry, like an old film, filtered through a haze of drink and drugs and endless hungry bodies, all desperate for him, for his mouth, his ‘pretty lips’, his scrawny frame, his ‘sweet little ass’. Just out of foster care, eighteen years young, with nowhere to go, Castiel frequented the clubs on the dirtier side of town – the ones more renowned for their ‘back room’ shenanigans.

Men would approach him without him even trying, hands grabbing at his waist, sliding over his ass and squeezing hard. They’d drag him into dark corners and kiss his lips, promising to reward him if he was a good boy, did exactly as he was told. It wasn’t so bad once you got the hang, Castiel found, keep yourself doped up on whatever was offered you, that was the trick, and smile saucily, flutter your lashes so that they paid double, came back next week wanting more.

Crowley had just been another one of the thousands that passed through, and Castiel had done everything he knew to get him to pay up, but Crowley just pushed him aside, laughing at him, telling him he was wasting his time. Castiel was persistent though, sensing the green paper lining of Crowley’s pants pockets and stepping up his game. Crowley gave him his card, impressed at his determination, and Castiel had nearly used it to roll a joint, but refrained, and a week later, he showed up at Heaven and Hell Escorts, demanding a job.

“I- I don’t…” Castiel stutters, and Crowley is still livid. “I can pay for Dean.”

“Not good enough.” Crowley hisses, and Castiel cowers into himself, because he feels so fucking vulnerable now, this is so far from fair. “Either Dean pays me the full amount by the end of this week or-”

The door bursts open, cutting Crowley off, his expression utterly furious, and all Castiel can think is it’s about fucking time.

“Crowley, my man!” Gabriel bellows, grinning inanely as he strides into the room. “Just wanted to run something past you if it’s not too much-”

It becomes a bit overwhelming at that point, and though Castiel normally likes to think of himself as a relatively together kind of guy, there’s a limit to what even he can handle. His knees buckle, mostly out of relief that Gabriel is here, at last, just like they’d planned, so maybe it’s over now, maybe he can get out of this room that’s choking him so violently he thinks he might pass out. Gabriel is by his side in a blink somehow, catching Castiel before he hits the ground and winding his arm round his surprisingly strong shoulders to keep him upright. He shoots a mischievous grin in Crowley’s direction.

“Woah, drinking on the job again bro?” Gabriel asks, feigning ignorance of the situation, and Castiel doesn’t bother to respond, or even process the question. He, Anna and Gabriel had planned earlier that this ‘meeting’ he was about to have with Crowley could definitely benefit from a little unwarranted interruption. Gabriel had heartily agreed, but he’d taken his sweet time about it. Probably necking with Anna in the elevator, one of his favourite things to do. “Don’t worry boss, I’ll escort him out. Eh? _Escort_? Come on, that was good.”

Crowley lets out a sort of animalistic growl, obviously too infuriated by what's happening to even verbalise his emotions. He sweeps several documents off the top of his desk, and then rips his keyboard out of its socket, throwing it across the room at Gabriel and Castiel as they hurriedly make their exit. The desk is too large, and the room too full of ornate wooden furniture for Crowley to be able to catch up with them luckily, and Gabriel wrenches the door open, pushing Castiel through with a cry of “see you next Tuesday, boss!” and they’re free.

It’s pretty unfortunate that Castiel feels as though he’s left most of his dignity back in that room, as he’s sure as hell not going back to retrieve it.

* * *

 

“Castiel!” Is the first thing Castiel can comprehend, and only then because it’s his name, said in the sparkling tones of one of his favourite people on the planet. It filters through his trance-like state, ringing like an alarm in the back of his mind as Anna rushes at him, bending down to throw her arms around him, and it’s only then he realises he’s crouching on the floor, near to Crowley’s office. It should be disconcerting, his proximity to that room, but in all the time he’s worked here he’s never once seen Crowley leave that office unless he absolutely has to. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Come on, we’re leaving. Gabriel, go tell Chuck.”

“He hasn't told Crowley yet, Anna. Neither have you.” Castiel drawls, slightly dazed, and he lifts his gaze to Anna’s for the first time. She looks relieved that he’s talking at all, so he must look pretty bad. He’s probably still crying, no wonder she looks distressed.

“I don't care. We’re leaving. I’m not working here anymore, Castiel. I'm sure Chuck feels the same way I do.” Anna tells him, her voice gentle, as if she’s trying not to frighten him. Castiel’s eyes widen, and he looks at his best friend as though she’s gone insane. His gaze flicks to Gabriel, in the mad, dear hope that he of all people might be able to install some sanity back into the conversation. Gabriel just shrugs at him, as if he can’t possibly control her – he probably can’t – and spins on his heel towards Chuck’s desk. “We were going to tell Crowley after you, but given that your… notification went so badly, I think I might email mine.”

“Chuck will probably do his via webcam.” Gabriel comments with a sly grin, strolling back with Chuck tucked under his arm. He’s got one of the Heaven and Hell complimentary lollipops in his mouth _already._ “He's used to it at least. Right, Chuckles?”

Chuck just looks worriedly up at the man currently slinging an arm around him, and nods meekly. It would be quite amusing if Castiel didn’t feel like he was about to pass out. He takes a few deep breaths, knowing that he can't worry about Crowley's reaction to Anna and Chuck leaving on top of everything else. He needs to sort through his emotions because he feels like he's drowning, and he can't let Dean know he's so affected by this. Not after the man was so worried about Castiel's decision to leave in the first place. So Crowley reminded him of a time he’d rather forget. Sure, it’d been bad, but he knew it would be bad, and it’s over now, for the time being. Crowley will have to accept that Castiel will pay for Dean, and they can work it out somehow, hopefully. Nobody else need ever know about how he got started in this business, especially not Dean, because Castiel might not be able to live with himself if he did.

Anna and Gabriel, in fact any of his colleagues, would never really ask such a personal question, and he would never ask it of them. It’s a widely known fact that people in the Escorting business, although there are exceptions, often have troubled pasts that they would like to remain in the shadows. Bringing something like that up, just to torture him, it was a low blow, even for a man like Crowley.

“Come on, Castiel.” Anna urges gently, hooking a careful hand under his shoulder and pulling him upright again. “Let’s get out of here. We have much to discuss, don’t you think?”

Castiel glances at Chuck, worried for the little man all of a sudden. Sure, the man had seemed eager when Castiel had informed him of the plan, presented him with an opportunity to leave, at long last, so Chuck can pursue his dreams. But with the absence of his desk and headset he looks almost lost, though he has managed to bring along his trusty bottle of whiskey, Castiel notices with a small smile. “Will you be alright, Chuck?”

Gabriel squeezes him hard, grinning down at the man around his lollipop as if in reassurance. “Yeah, I guess. I just… I’ve done this for so long… it’s hard to know what else is out there, y’know?”

Anna nods sympathetically, and opens her mouth to speak, but Gabriel stops her, pulling his lollipop out of his mouth and handing it to her so he can turn to Chuck properly. “Dude! Come on, I’m not even quitting and I know this place is a load of horse honkey! You’ve let it become your whole world! What about… I don’t know, women? Parties? Cocktails on the beach at noon? It’s time to give up the terrible life and live a little!”

Anna rolls her eyes, turning back to place a comforting hand on Castiel’s back, but Chuck looks almost contemplative of Gabriel’s words, and even nods a little, falling into step with the others, seemingly without noticing. 

"I think between the four of us, your idea for a business could turn out very well, Anna." Castiel comments, gazing at Chuck and Anna beside him in slightly reassured contemplation. Dean's face swims into his mind as well of course, though that just makes him blush. 

"I'd be the brains of the operation, obviously." Gabriel quips, letting Anna shove the lollipop back into his mouth and winking at her. She rolls her eyes, but smiles. 

"Ah, no," Castiel replies, turning to Gabriel and looking a little embarrassed, "I meant the four of us as in myself, Anna, Chuck and Dean. You're not even leaving Heaven and Hell, Gabriel. You're quite welcome to help out but..."

Gabriel blinks at him, and rests a hand over his heart, pretending to look hurt. That's the thing with Gabriel though, not much fazes him, it's part of the reason he's so irritating. "Bro! I'm  _hurt."_ He says, turning to Chuck and grinning when the small man gives a stifled snigger. "You bet your ass I'll be helping, I'm going to make myself indispensable."

"Hmm." Is all Castiel says in response, and he raises his eyebrows at Anna. He feels a lot better though, suddenly, and that's a terribly good sign, seeing as these are the people he's going to be working with in the future. He presses the button for the elevator, not even minding which one it is. 

* * *

 

 **To: Jo**  
From: Adam  
9:53pm  
Hey. Hope u dont  
think this is weird  
just thought I'd   
ask how it went  
with ur mom  
hope ur ok  
Adam x

 **To: Adam**  
From: Jo  
9:58pm  
ugh, dont even  
she was soooo mad  
im grounded for at  
least fourty years  
but hey we've gotta  
be rebellious and  
sneak out of our bedroom  
sometimes right?  
...thnx 4 remembering  
thts actually kinda  
sweet  
Jo x

 **To: Jo**  
From: Adam  
10:00pm  
aw man :/ so u cant  
go out anywhere?  
Adam x  
P.S No problem, I   
was genuinely worried  
ur mom sounded scary

 **To: Adam**  
From: Jo  
10:03pm  
...thts pretty much the  
definition of grounded  
Adam :L but dw I've  
got u 2 entertain me  
right? ;)  
Jo x  
P.S She's much worse in  
person

 **To: Jo**  
From: Adam  
10:05pm  
thts such a shame cos I   
was gonna catch a flight  
come down and serenade  
u @ ur window till u   
agree to let me buy u   
dinner  
Adam x  
P.S I reckon she'd like   
me ;)

 **To: Adam**  
From: Jo  
10:09pm  
my mom has a large   
collection of shotguns.  
she's a shoot first ask   
questions later type of   
woman. if u told her u were  
trying to 'woo' me, she'd   
definitely shoot.  
And what makes u  
think I'd go out with u just  
cos u serenaded me? what is  
this an 80's chick flick? ;)  
Jo x

 **To: Jo**  
From: Adam  
10:12pm  
ok 2 b fair u havent heard  
my serenading skills yet jo  
i'm not stereotyping here but  
u'd almost definitely swoon.  
and i reckon i could charm her  
hey maybe she likes to be   
serenaded too?  
Adam x

 **To: Adam**  
From: Jo  
10:15pm  
haha ok if u ever do come to  
detroit 4 any reason u actually  
have to serenade me now. i   
hope u realise what u've gotten  
urself into  >:)  
Jo x

 **To: Jo**  
From: Adam  
10:16pm  
It's a deal... if u go out with  
me after.  
Backfire.   
Adam x

 **To: Adam**  
From: Jo  
10:18pm  
Honestly Adam... with my mom  
i'm not worth the effort.   
Jo x  
P.S ur sweet though. and... i   
guess ur kinda cute...

 **To: Jo**  
From: Adam  
10:19pm  
Yes you are. Without a doubt. If I   
actually managed to get u 2 agree  
2 going out with me I'd probably   
swoon myself. I'd go ten rounds with  
your mom hands tied and blindfolded  
if it meant an hour or two in ur   
company. just hanging out  
Adam x  
P.S thnx I try. I guess ur not so bad  
either ;)

 **To: Adam**  
From: Jo  
10:20pm  
Alright then Romeo, find a way  
to take me somewhere and I'm  
all urs 4 the evening.   
Jo x  
P.S I'm sure as hell not letting  
u pay for everything you  
womaniser ;) 

 **To: Jo**  
From: Adam  
10:21pm  
*swoons*  
Adam x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry this is later than I intended. You'll be happy to know I have finished the majority of my college work, and thus my fic writing once again takes priority. Part three will be up much sooner than this part honestly.


	20. Epilogue [Part 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So utterly terribly sorry about the lateness. 
> 
> I was at Asylum 10 meeting the Supernatural cast... I about died. I honestly did not have a single spare moment to edit this chapter, despite it being ready for the whole weekend. I'm sorry about that, but I'm home now (Misha hugged me someone hold me while I fall apart) and there'll be lots more destiel coming your way I'm sure. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr (fallforcastiel.tumblr.com) if you would like updates about future fics :) xx

Two Months Later

“Cas, come on already!” Dean yells, sticking his head out of the driver’s side window in the hope his voice will travel through the open door of Cas’s apartment building. He honks the Impala’s horn loudly, twice, glancing at the clock on his dashboard with a pounding heart. “We gotta go! Get your beautiful ass down here!”

He waits for a few more moments, head poking out into the warm night air, and then ducks back inside, chewing his lip. Goddamn it, this Angel is going to kill him. Being fashionably late to your own party is a thing, he knows, but this is pushing it a bit surely.

At last he hears footsteps, impossibly light, and he turns towards the sound gratefully, wrinkling his brow in confusion to find the building’s door already closed. Before he can voice his bewilderment, the passenger side door is opening, and Cas climbs in, almost as if he materialised from nowhere, which he seems to be able to do with alarming regularity.

Despite himself, Dean smiles. His boyfriend looks friggin gorgeous, and while it’s hardly a surprise considering he looks rip-my-clothes-off delectable all the time, Dean can’t help leaning over and kissing his stupid, happy face. Cas kisses back, and he’s laughing, because Dean has been insufferable all day he knows, checking every detail thirty times over, asking Cas’s opinion on every damn thing and stressing them both silly, but apparently all he wants to do now is try and push Cas’s trenchcoat off his shoulders to get a better look at the silk suit underneath.

“Dean-mmph!” Castiel manages to gasp out before Dean is unbuckling his seatbelt, climbing into his lap and kissing him so fiercely it seems to leave him a little breathless. Screw all the others, Dean thinks as he grabs Cas’s tie and uses it to hoist the former-Angel forwards, crashing their lips together again. Cas seems to have given up the vague struggle, apparently realising that Dean isn’t climbing off him anytime soon despite the fact they are so, _so_ incredibly late for their own party, and he winds his hands around Dean’s waist, slipping under his jacket to run his fingers over the thin shirt, Dean’s skin radiating heat from beneath it.

“You look so hot tonight, Angel.” Dean murmurs as his lips attack Cas’s jaw, hands gripping in Cas’s hair and pulling, tilting his head back so he can kiss a hot, wet path up to his ear. Cas just makes a noise, deep in his throat, his eyes fluttering as Dean presses his lips against his pulse. Cas is wriggling underneath him, hands clawing at his back, and Dean can feel he’s getting hard. It should be the signal to turn back, given that they’ve places to be, but Dean can _feel_ him, he’s so needy, so submissive under Dean’s hands and lips and tongue. He can’t help himself, this is Cas, the most beautiful, incredible man to him in the world. He couldn’t resist him after knowing him just two days, how on earth is he supposed to resist him now?

He grinds down, rubbing their crotches together, and even through the various layers of fabric it’s good enough to make Dean stutter, his teeth clamping down on the skin of Cas’s neck so that he cries out. Cas starts moving his own hips up then, the bastard, because Dean was not prepared for that. Cas’s hands travel down to Dean’s hips, holding him in position as he moves upwards, rubbing himself across the front of Dean’s pants, their erections brushing against each other so that Dean can only moan, his breathy gasps filling the silent car as Cas continues. The friction is unbearable, but Dean just digs his hands in deeper to Cas’s hair, trying to ground himself with the feel of the silky tresses, and he rocks his hips in time, his chest pressed tight against Cas’s as they rut together, heat and the prickle of pure pleasure bubbling beneath their skin.

“Dean, D-Dean…” Cas stutters, and Dean doesn’t stop moving against him because he can’t, he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop if the world came crashing down. Instead he moves his face from where it’s buried in Cas’s neck, his breaths having left a damp patch glistening on the skin there that he just has to lick off. “Nngh, _Dean…_ ”

“Yeah?”

Cas is gripping his hips so tightly it’s pinching the skin, even with his pants in the way, but he doesn’t care, he’s getting close, he can feel Cas’s cock against his, imagines it heavy and leaking for him and he practically jerks in response, squeezing his eyes shut against the ripples of want that run through him at the idea.

“Bite me,” Cas chokes out, and Dean leans back to stare at his face, which is flushed and desperate, obviously on the edge of release, “here.” One of his hands releases its vice-like grip on Dean’s hip and moves to grab the back of his neck, guiding Dean’s mouth down to his throat so he can bite the skin there. Dean laughs a little against the bared skin, teeth nipping teasingly because he long ago learnt about Cas’s kink for being marked up. It originated that first night they slept together, when Dean had sucked a whole litany of bruises into the soft skin of his Angel, and Cas had looked at them the next day, revelling in the deliciously rebellious thought that it meant he was Dean’s property now, not Crowley’s. He'd told Dean about it, and now… well. He has to wear scarves. Often.

It’s going to get a lot more difficult to hide these now that it’s June, Dean thinks, lips stretching wide to suck his first possessive little mark; his teeth scrape against Cas’s skin just as he grinds down, harder than usual and Cas _whines,_ the hand on Dean’s neck pulling him further forwards so he’s squashed against Cas’s throat, though Dean finds it difficult to complain. He smells of cinnamon, a delicious cologne that makes him want to lick Cas all over.

He decides to speed up his hip movements then, remembering vaguely that they have some place to get to, and Cas groans, joining in with Dean’s rhythm, sensations pooling in their gut as they continue to grind, and Dean bites down, hard, probably leaving teeth marks. Cas gasps and jerks forwards, his hips slamming upwards into Dean’s, and then he’s coming, Dean feels it, warmth spreading in between them and it’s so hot, so he keeps moving, tongue massaging the spot he just bruised so that Cas keeps making those little noises.

Cas moves his hand away from Dean’s head, sliding it back underneath his suit jacket and tugs him forwards as he moves, forcing their eyes to meet. That, along with the feeling of Cas’s sharp fingers digging into his spine is honestly all it takes to push him over the edge, falling into the abyss of pure white hot pleasure. He slumps against Cas, letting his orgasm cascade through his body, all the way to his fingertips before it ebbs away, and then there is only stillness, and the sound of their laboured breathing.

“I thought you were concerned we were late.” Cas says, breaking the silence far too soon for Dean’s liking. He’s still on Cas’s lap, chin on his shoulder, and he wasn’t planning on moving for a long while until Cas said that. Shit. They are so, so late.

Dean leans backwards reluctantly, wearily, and looks Cas in the eye with a sloppy grin. “Can’t help it baby, you’re irresistible.”

* * *

 

Half an hour and a change of clothes later, they pull up to the Roadhouse, finding it already thrumming with activity of course, because they are so late, it’s had plenty of time to get busy. It’s more packed than Dean’s ever seen it, even the car park is crammed, they struggle to find a space to park, and there are people spilling out of the doors, mingling under the awning, smoking cigarettes in the warm June air. He squashes a swell of pride, knowing that this surge of business is basically because of him. Castiel notices though, of course he does, and he squeezes Dean’s hand before they get out of the car, acknowledging his effort has paid off.

They try to sneak in with a group of people, hiding amongst some raucous customers as they re-enter the bar, in the hopes that maybe they can persuade Ellen they’ve been here the whole time, just mingling with the guests. No such luck though, they’re spotted immediately, not helped by Cas’s blindingly obvious trenchcoat that could be recognised from six miles away, and then they’re being yanked towards the bar by a cross looking Ellen.

“Where the hell have you boys been at?” Ellen yells over the loud hubbub of laughter and chatter all around. The place is brimming with groups of people, all with drinks in their hands, bought at the bar so Dean doesn’t really know why Ellen’s complaining, but he has the decency to look sheepish all the same. “Anna’s been looking _everywhere_ for you two!”

Ellen guides them through the crowd, stopping every so often so that they can brush hands with vague acquaintances, acknowledge greetings and receive congratulations. They eventually find themselves in front of a group of anxious looking people, all three of whom they know intimately by this point.

“Oh my fucking god. Castiel! What the hell happened to you?!” Anna cries, and she flings her arms around Castiel, relief flooding her face. Dean chuckles, knowing she must be in a state if she’s wound up enough to swear. He only met Anna a couple of months ago, but just knowing she is a close friend of Cas’s is enough, and he immediately warmed to her. Even if she is a little… erratic. “Do you think people are enjoying it? We haven’t started the main part yet… the caterers are being _relentless_ though, asking me every little thing about crudités and vegetarian guests and oh _god-_ ”

Dean decides to jump in, just as Castiel grabs her wrists and gently prises her off him. He darts a look at Gabriel standing beside her, who somehow has gotten hold of one of the waiters’ platters of chocolate fondants, and is steadily working his way through. They exchange a look of amused alarm at Anna’s freaked out attitude, and then Dean rests a hand on Anna’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I got it from here.”

She looks up from Cas’s shoulder, startled, and then gives him a smile that Dean’s sure prompted a thousand poppies to bloom. Gabriel is someone who Dean, if he’s honest, didn’t initially think he’d get along with. But he quickly found that the two of them have a lot in common, they both share a tendency to get past any emotional ‘chick flick moments’ with humour defence mechanisms for instance. Plus Gabriel is _hilarious,_  and a little crazy too, especially on a night out, as Dean has found to his cost. Last time they’d ‘gone for a quick drink’ Gabriel had nearly been arrested, and Dean had needed to plead with the officer to let him out of the handcuffs.

They’ve been exceptional friends ever since.

“I’ll catch up later, okay?” He says to Cas, and his Angel nods, though he barely conceals his disappointment at seeing Dean has to go. He winks at Cas and departs for the kitchen, ready to put his work gloves on and get things at this party running smoothly, because this really is his job now, and he loves it.

He spots Jo on a stool at the bar as he walks past, typing something into her laptop, a soppy grin on her face. It’d be disgusting if it wasn’t so cute. It had taken Dean about a week, but after a long, patient process of bargaining, threatening to tell her Mom about that time they played hooky from work to go to a football game, and completely against the rules tickle-fights, he managed to get it out of Jo that she and Adam were sorta-kinda dating. Well, the online version.

Dean had practically cried with laughter upon hearing that, because it’s just too perfect, and this can’t be his life, not really. Everyone finding their true love online, and now the business… it’s almost preposterous. Jo had misunderstood, thought Dean was laughing at her and punched him in the arm. He supposed it was a reasonable reaction all in all. She’s been skyping and texting Adam for weeks now, because she’s grounded and can’t see him for real. It’s a tragic love, totally the stuff of Shakespeare, but Dean reckons Adam might just have it in him to pull some dramatic romantic gesture out of the bag.

He chuckles all the way into the kitchen, imagining the kind of things Jo would say if Adam showed up at her window, flowers, serenades and all.

* * *

 

Chuck, Gabriel and Anna stand before Castiel, looking up at him expectantly, like his arrival has brought the evening to its climax. It’s flattering really, that they have so much faith in him, because he’s probably as scared of this moment as they are, if not more so. After all, it’s his name on the papers for this business now, and this event is the launch. It’s make or break time. And they wonder why he was late showing up!

Well… he was late for several reasons perhaps, and they don’t need to know about one particular Dean-related reason, but the main reason is his anxiety. Even Dean doesn't know how scared he is of what’s about to happen, not really.

“Sooo…” Gabriel says, breaking the awkward silence between the four of them. Not that it’s anywhere near silent in this place, in fact it’s so busy Castiel can barely hear himself think. He really needs a drink. “Gonna make the grand speech then, Cassy?”

Like she knows, Ellen swoops by him with a tray of glasses, handing a glass of fizzing champagne to Castiel and nodding at him, telling him to get on with it basically. He nods back at her, taking a long swig of the bubbling liquid, squinting as the sparks of champagne fly up his nose. “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it now.”

Anna looks like she’s about to pass out from relief at his words, and Gabriel steadies her, chuckling. Castiel glances at Chuck, who gives him a sympathetic little thumbs up, like he’s all too aware of how bad it is to stand up in front of strangers and say things you don’t want to. He smiles at Chuck, because he didn’t actually expect him to stick it out this long if he’s honest with himself. He hired Chuck as the publicist-slash-receptionist-slash-assistant for this endeavour, but he did so in the full knowledge that Chuck intends to become a professional author. He's very lenient with Chuck in a way he's sure no other employer would be, but the poor guy's had it so bad for so long working for Crowley, he deserves a nice job, with a sideline of doing what he loves. Really it’s just a good thing Castiel is so observant, and he just hopes his plan for Chuck this evening works out.

Downing the rest of his champagne in a hurried gulp, Castiel thrusts his glass at Gabriel, who takes it, grumbling. He shrugs off his coat, and chucks it at Anna, giving each of them a parting glance before disappearing into the crowd, towards the small stage area he and Dean set up the night before.

It takes him a moment to get there, as he’s waylaid by almost everyone he knows on the way, including almost every Angel he used to work with: Balthazar, Michael, Rachel, Zach, they’re all here to support him, it’s so lovely it brings tears to his eyes. Maybe there was more to that soulless company than he’d thought. At least he can say that his co-workers cared about him. Or maybe they just wanted a party to go to on a Friday night. Either way, he’s happy they’re here.

He reaches the jut of the stage and steps up, heart hammering wildly. He’s far too nervous, he wishes he’d thought to have at least two more glasses of that champagne before trying this, he’s never been a particularly good public speaker. He scans the crowd from his slightly elevated level, eyes bulging when he thinks he spots a couple of Demons at the far end of the room, Meg and Azazel if he’s not mistaken. Strange, but then Meg did seem to be a little sweet on him, near the end.

He takes a few deep breaths, stepping up to the microphone and fiddling with the knobs, trying to get it to the right height. His fingers fumble terribly, and the microphone isn’t even on, he notices, or he’d be able to hear his own frantic breaths. Just like that, he feels arms winding around him, holding two extra large glasses of champagne at chest level, and Castiel sighs, relieved. _Dean,_ he thinks.

He takes one of the glasses gratefully, turning in Dean’s arms. It’s incredible how much tension drains from his body in one swoop, just from looking into glistening emerald irises that he knows aren’t going anywhere.

“Hey, you got this.” Dean says quietly, leaning forwards and taking his tie in hand lightly. Cas’s heart stutters a little, remembering how he’d gripped the tie earlier, used it to manoeuvre him about as they kissed, but he suppresses the thought, knowing now is not the time. “These people came here for you. And if they didn’t, then they need help, right?”

Castiel nods, listening to the soothing tone of Dean’s voice, leaning into his touch as he takes a sip of the sweet, bubbly champagne.

“So, let’s help em then.” Dean continues, one hand, the one that isn’t holding his own glass, coming up to rub soothingly against Castiel’s arm. “Come on, what better way to help someone meet the love of their life than through one of my killer parties?”

He’s smirking now, Castiel can tell, and he looks up at Dean, returning his smile. Dean kisses him, soft and sweet, and it’s so preposterously not scary anymore that Castiel wishes he could take Dean somewhere right now and thank him properly. He makes do with finding Dean’s hand and squeezing it, then moves to the microphone.

He finds the switch on the side to turn it on easily now, and smirks at himself for being so silly. “Erm, ladies and gentlemen?”

His voice echoes around the room, and the chatter slowly dies away as people turn to look at the stage where he and Dean stand. They’re surrounded by fairy lights in red and white, he knows because he helped put them up, though it was Dean’s decision obviously. He’s the ideas man, Castiel is just good with business.

“Good evening. I hope you’re all having a good time so far.” Castiel says, gazing around at the many faces smiling up at him. There’s a cheer at that, as if in response, and it brings a warm colour to Castiel’s cheeks. People are having fun, all because of him. Well, him and Dean. “I’d like to thank you all for coming to the launch of Cupid’s Arrow, my matchmaking business right here in Detroit. Some of you may know me, my name is Castiel Novak, former Escort for Heaven & Hell Escort Service, and I have decided to use my skills for something I feel personally is more worthwhile.”

There’s an eruption of applause that Castiel wasn’t expecting, but he straightens and smiles graciously, nodding in thanks, turning to look at Dean with a slight shrug. Dean looks like he’s about to burst with pride, and that in itself makes Castiel flush crimson.

“I, um, I recently found… love.” Castiel begins, a little nervously, looking slightly at the floor, because this part is a little embarrassing. He looks up at Dean and smiles, holding his gaze for a moment before continuing. It’s stupid to feel embarrassed, he thinks, he’s so lucky to have this. Luckier than most. “And… I decided that I wanted to help as many people as I could to find it too. So I set up this business with a few good friends,” he raises his glass towards Anna, Gabriel and Chuck in the crowd, taking a sip before continuing, “we have an online registering system, and my other half creates wonderful events just like this one every week, so you can come along, mingle, meet that special someone you’ve been talking to online… or just meet someone entirely new! The choice is yours. Freedom, that’s the key, no rules, no obligations, just an initial fee and then happily ever after.”

The crowd are smiling dopily now, the expressions on their faces mirroring the ones that everyone gets when Cas explains his business idea. It’s schmoopy, he’s well aware, but people need this in their lives, they need to experience the kind of love he’s found with Dean, because it’s like nothing on earth, and if he’d gone without it his whole life, who knows what he would have become. Some kind of robotic, unfeeling puppet for Crowley no doubt.

“If you’d like to know more, there are pamphlets… well, pretty much covering every surface.” Laughter fills the air as people swivel around, looking at the pink leaflets lining every table and counter. Anna spent weeks designing those, they’re her pride and joy. “I also have an office in town, on Skinner Street, so pop in anytime. My number and contact information is on the leaflets, as well as the website of course. Now, if you’re all game, I believe my newly hired secretary has designed the _completely optional_ speed-dating portion of the evening, so if you’ll all welcome my very own Cupid!”

Castiel had been a little hesitant about this part, but Anna had practically insisted, and Gabriel had joined in, persuading Castiel that the company needed at least a little bit of a gimmick, even if it wasn’t as over the top as Crowley’s. He’s not even sure where Anna found the poor man, but he’s willing to dress up in a bedsheet with a bow and arrow, so what the hell. Plus, he’s surprisingly organised for a man who seems so flighty.

Cupid (that’s all he’ll allow anyone to call him) walks onto the stage, pretending to fire his bow and arrow, at the crowd and waving enthusiastically. He beams at Castiel, his rosy cheeks dimpled with a smile, and Castiel braces himself, because he suddenly knows what's next. Cupid marches forwards, arms flung wide, and gathers Castiel up, bringing him crashing into his partially bared chest in something reminiscent of an embrace. Yes, that's the only drawback with the guy... he's very affectionate.

But eventually Castiel is released, Cupid turning his hugging efforts towards a laughing Dean, who attempts to run away, though it's futile as the stage is small and Cupid is persistent. The crowd go mad for it though, practically crying with laughter at the display, and Cupid turns to them eagerly. He drinks up the attention, and it’s good because Castiel is about done with it, so he steps into the background, finding Dean’s arms waiting for him, and listens vaguely as Cupid announces the rules of the speed dating.

A large majority take part in it actually, which is great, as Castiel had kind of expected that part to be kind of a flop. Cupid takes charge of everything, ushering all the willing participants into the table and chairs section of the room, making sure everyone’s seated before beginning. Every so often a bell chimes, and people move from their seats in that area, but it doesn’t affect the mood of the remainder of the party, if anything they seem amused by it all.

Anna and Gabriel run over to Castiel as soon as he’s finished, waiting impatiently for him to clamber down off the stage with Dean before hugging him and telling him it went _splendidly_ and that everyone loved it.

“Castiel look! Practically _all_ of my leaflets are gone!” Anna cries excitedly, and Castiel looks around to see that indeed, the room is surprisingly void of pink pamphlets now. “Oh, you’re a genius Castiel! Truly!”

“Thank you Anna, but really, the party was all Dean.” Castiel replies, nodding to his counterpart, currently engrossed in a conversation with Gabriel about the merits of pie over cake. Anna nods, turning her congratulatory face to Dean now, and Castiel takes the opportunity to scan for Chuck. Time to put that part of the plan in motion without a doubt.

He spots him over in the corner, nursing a bottle of beer and looking rather sorry for himself. He’s staring at something over at the far end of the room, a heartbroken expression on his face. This of course melts off completely when Castiel approaches, and he straightens up, extending a hand for Castiel to shake in congratulations.

“How’s the book coming Chuck?” Castiel asks, intending to catch him off guard, and swatting his hand away. Chuck visibly deflates at the question, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Oh my god, don’t. Why did I ever think I wanted to do this professionally again? Writing is hard!”

He starts rambling about the downward spiral of one of his main characters, something about one of the brothers getting hooked on sucking blood and Chuck not knowing whether to put it in the books as it would make the character seem unsympathetic. Castiel nods as if he understands completely, turning quickly while Chuck is distracted, listing his characters’ numerous flaws to see what he’d been staring at before. Sure enough, sat at the speed dating table closest to them, her back turned to the two of them, exposing the large pink bow of her dress, is Becky Rosen.

He shakes his head at the two of them, both so wonderfully, blissfully ignorant of what would await them were they to just pursue each other. It’s almost delicious, the anticipation he can feel, like a taut string between the two of them, even across the whole of this crowded room. Castiel’s hand clamps down on Chuck’s shoulder, silencing him mid-rant, and Chuck’s eyes widen.

“Chuck. Follow me.”

Castiel turns enigmatically, a smile on his lips because he knows Chuck will follow, why wouldn’t he? What’s he got to lose? Castiel stalks towards Becky’s table, Chuck hot on his heels, and stands beside her, looming tall and impressive, a cowering Chuck at his side. There’s a man in the seat opposite Becky, and it takes a few moments before Castiel realises it’s Balthazar, looking severely frightened, probably the result of Becky’s talk of ‘slash fiction’.

She looks up to see Castiel and lets out a very undignified squawk. “Castiel!”

Castiel nods at her, and she flutters a hand over her heart, as if she’s having trouble coping with just the sight of him. “Becky.” He acknowledges, trying not to be too friendly because he’s here for Chuck, not himself. He turns to Balthazar, his mouth tilting slightly at the corner because he knows he’s giving his ex-co-worker what he wants right now, an out, but he has to be polite.

“Excuse me, Balthazar, but would you mind terribly if my friend cut in here?”

Balthazar throws his head back and laughs loudly once, then straightens and grabs his glass of brandy from the table. “Not at all, Cassy. Great job by the way, you’re going to go far, I can tell.”

“W-wa?” Becky says eloquently as Balthazar moves to get up from his chair, and he darts a look at her.

“Sorry sweetheart, you’re a lovely girl, but if I’m honest I only came here looking for the possibility of a ménage a…” He thinks for a moment, his brow creasing before he glances up at Cas. “…what’s French for twelve?”

Castiel just sighs, exasperated, and pushes him out of his seat, smirking because his ex-coworker is grinning the entire time.

“Excuse me! That man was-” Becky starts to say, and Castiel cuts her off.

“Another Escort. Like me. You’re never going to get anywhere with people you pay for, Becky.”

Becky folds her arms and pouts, leaning back in her chair. Chuck fidgets beside the table, fingers tapping out a disjointed rhythm on the beer bottle he's still holding. He doesn’t move away though, and it’s because he’s obviously smitten.

“Chuck says that _Dean_ did. He paid for you, and now you two are in love!”

Castiel spares a moment to glare at Crowley’s former secretary for giving such personal information away to a client, but Chuck just smiles sheepishly, so he shrugs it off, sighing. “Yes, but I didn’t let Dean pay in the end. I used my own earnings from the company to pay off Dean’s debt and then get a loan to start up this company. But yes, I’ll admit, Dean was the rare exception. Becky, you’re better than this, you can find people that care about you without having to pay them, you’re just not looking hard enough.”

Becky looks down at the table, a pink pamphlet laid out before her. “I doubt it.” She replies, sighing.

That was it, Castiel thinks, that was his damn cue, the idiot. He swivels on his heel, turning to Chuck to find out why he hadn’t jumped in just then and declared his undying love for the sad, lonely girl before them both. Chuck is looking elsewhere, chewing his lip and avoiding everyone’s eyes. The bell rings, and it takes a few moments for Castiel to redirect traffic around Becky’s table so that her seat remains empty.

“ _Hmm,_ ” Castiel says as sarcastically as he can manage, “I _wonder,_ who on EARTH could hold the solution to this problem? Who could sit right _here,_ ” Castiel grabs Chuck by the shoulders and manhandles him into the seat opposite Becky, so that she looks up, surprised, “and reassure Becky that he likes her for who she is? Likes her a _lot_?”

Chuck is beetroot red, his eyes wide and glued to Becky’s as if he can’t look away, and Castiel’s hands still rest atop his shoulders, worried he might try and flee.

“Chuck?” Becky asks tentatively, blushing a little herself as she starts to process the situation. “Is he saying… do you…”

“Becky, you’re amazing. I like your ideas about my writing… the incest stuff is a little weird, but you have an awesome imagination, and you’re funny and pretty and smart… I like you, okay? A lot.”

Chuck takes a few quick breaths after that, and Becky looks a little stunned, blinking a couple of times as if she can’t quite believe that was just said to her. Then the most beautiful thing happens.

Becky breaks out into a smile, one so genuine, so happy and wide it brings tears to her own eyes, and Castiel smiles too, because he’s never seen her look so beautiful. Her teeth glimmer and she reaches across the table for Chuck’s hand, which he gives her shakily, his own smile beginning to emerge beneath the thick stubble of his beard. They lace their fingers together over the checkered tablecloth, smiling as they feel the affection pour from one to the other. It’s a truly wonderful moment, and Castiel created it, so clearly this is all worth it.

“I like you too.”

Castiel decides to leave them to it then, and with a parting wave that he’s sure neither of them notice, he turns and walks back to his own match made in Heaven.

* * *

 

“Man, I wish Sammy were here.” Dean says once it’s all wound down a bit; most of the people have left by now, many of them having paired up along the way which is wonderful, and entirely the point of the evening. Cas moves to where Dean’s sat on top of the bar, Ellen wiping a cloth around him, and he winds a hand around Dean’s waist, squeezing him comfortingly, knowing he must miss his brother badly right now.

Jo swivels in her seat on the barstool, looking up at Dean with a mischievous smile. Cas chuckles at her expression, knowing she’s about to spill some marvellous, probably badly thought out plan.

“We could Skype him?” Jo says, making it a question, in case Dean doesn’t like the idea for some reason. Huh, Castiel thinks, maybe not such a terrible idea then. Dean’s face actually lights up at the very suggestion, and Cas laughs harder, because suddenly Dean is full of life, just the idea of seeing his brother’s face again is enough to get him buzzing with excitement.

“Yeah! Do it Jo, awesome!” Dean cries, sliding a hand into Cas’s hair because that’s his comfort-zone apparently. Cas doesn’t particularly mind. “Oh, uh, wait… do you need it for… other conversations?”

Dean winks at her, and she scowls, blushing a lot but shaking her head defiantly, her long hair flying about. “Adam’s not… answering.”

A surge of something alarmingly protective wells up in Cas’s chest then, and he feels Dean go a little more rigid too. He had no idea he’d developed such a fondness for the girl standing before them over the short time he’s known her, but apparently her feisty, no-nonsense attitude has grown on him more and more because right now all he feels is the need to drag Adam out of bed, or out of wherever else he is, and onto Skype so he can talk with her and take that sad lilt out of her voice. He can’t even imagine how Dean feels; Jo is his best friend, and Adam is his _brother._

“Hmm.” Dean says, and he shoots a look at Cas, both of them knowing what the other is thinking – do they need to intervene?

“Don’t worry, I’ll text Sam, get him to go online. I’m sure he will.” Jo says, not noticing their exchanged glances.

Cas notices the dishcloth Ellen is using to scrub the countertop jabbing sharply at Dean’s hip, and Dean turns to look at her. Her expression is just short of thunderous, apparently having overheard the conversation, and as a result her cleaning movements have gotten significantly more violent. Dean gulps audibly, and Cas shoots her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

Dean had told Cas about it on the day he’d convinced Jo to tell her Mom about Adam. They’d been ‘together’ for a month at that point, and Dean decided it was high time her mother knew; she’d have to be understanding, this was her daughter after all. Dean had driven Jo home himself, stayed for a cup of tea as Jo explained, just in case it all kicked off, which it did of course, because Ellen is a hot-tempered woman, and Jo still hasn’t been ungrounded for sneaking off to Sam’s wedding.

Ellen had sent her to her room, and Dean had tried his best to explain Adam was a good kid, then left. It had taken time, and probably a lot of grovelling on Jo’s part, but eventually Ellen had almost accepted the idea. Castiel suspects she is more open to the idea because Adam isn’t actually anywhere near her daughter, though that’s bound to change at some point.

So all in all, any negative things said about Adam in Ellen’s presence are not to be taken lightly. That woman only needs the littlest excuse to ban Jo from seeing him ever again.

“Okay, he should be online now!” Jo says suddenly, breaking Castiel out of his reminiscence. He and Dean crowd round the barstool, looking into the laptop screen, and wait as Jo clicks a few buttons, trying to set up the call.

Castiel shoots a quick glance around the few stragglers left to see if he can spot Anna and Gabriel, and he finds them huddled in a corner, in one of the ‘loveseats’, Gabriel feeding Anna truffles from a silver tray. He rolls his eyes, trying to catch their gaze and beckon them over.

“Dean! Jo!”

That sound is unmistakeable. Castiel whips his head back around, facing the screen to see Sam’s grinning face peering back at them. He can’t help himself, he’s fond of the younger Winchester. He breaks out into a grin himself.

“Sammy! What are you, in your pyjamas? Come on it’s like…” Dean checks his watch. “Oh. Half midnight.”

Sam chuckles, raising his eyebrows at Dean and clapping slowly to show his stupidity. His eyes swivel to Cas then, and he lights up again, waving frantically. “Cas! How you been, man? Jess has been talking about you _non-stop,_ seriously if you weren’t sucking face with my brother the whole time I think I’d be concerned you two were eloping together.”

Cas smiles, his heart warming. “Ah, Jess. I miss her so, but you’re in no trouble there I assure you. She loves you a great deal.”

Dean clears his throat pointedly then, and all eyes swivel to look at him. He raises his eyebrows at Cas. “And, of course, I love Dean a great deal, so… it’s all a moot point really.”

Dean smiles smugly and winds an arm around Cas’s waist, tugging him in; Cas rolls his eyes.

“Sickening, isn’t it Sam? I bet you’re glad you got away from them.” Jo says from the stool in front of them, shaking her head fondly.

“Uh huh. Absolutely sickening. Can’t stand to see you so loved up and adorable big bro.” Sam agrees, and he winks at Dean, making it clear he means the opposite. “Hold on, I’ll go get my… wait for it… _wife._ Sorry, still getting used to that one.” Dean laughs at him, shaking his head.

“You dweeb.”

Sam flips him off and jumps off the bed he’s sat on, making it clear he is in fact in his pyjamas, stripy ones, obviously Jess’s influence. Though they look relatively new, still with the creases visible, so Castiel would deduce that this is the first time he’s… _needed_ to wear them. Clearly the honeymoon is still going, he thinks, smiling a little.

Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek, making the man smile because he’s surprised, and then he turns, careful not to dislodge Dean’s arm around his waist. He spies Anna and Gabriel, now joined by Cupid, who is trying to tug the silver platter from Gabriel’s hands – a futile effort – whilst Anna giggles.

“Anna, Gabe! Come and meet Sam, Dean’s brother.” He calls to them, beckoning them over. He pauses. “And his wife, Jess.”

Gabriel drops the platter at Castiel’s words, sending it clattering to the floor, much to Cupid’s dismay, and the two of them begin to wander over. Castiel is going to have to watch their relationship, he thinks, Gabriel will cause nothing but trouble with that strange man.

“CAS!”

Castiel turns round, a huge grin in place already because Jess’s face is now filling the screen, Sam squished in beside her. She’s reaching her arms out towards him, smiling broadly as if she’s trying to capture him through the internet itself and pull him towards her. He waves excitedly, admiring her beautiful hair, half of which has been plaited into neat little braids on one half of her head. It must have been done in Hawaii, he thinks, as she and Sam had extended their stay there to one month, they’d loved it that much. They’re still a little brown, even now.

“Ohhh, I wish I could give you a big hug. You too, Dean!” She cries, practically shaking with excitement, and Sam chuckles, winding two arms around her waist to ground her.

“Damn straight.” Dean replies, pouting because he’s no longer the favourite, so Cas reaches up and kisses his cheek again, and he can’t help but smile. He tries not to though, which is adorable, it truly is.

“You guys look so cute, aw we miss you so much, don’t we Sammy?” Jess says, nudging Sam in the ribs so he yelps. Jo laughs at the girlish sound he makes. “Oh hey Jo! Sorry, I was overwhelmed with the cuteness of the couple, thanks for coming to the wedding by the way, and thank you so much for those articles you sent me on ‘Finding Feminism’, they were so cool!”

“Uh, no problem.” Jo replies, looking a little embarrassed, but pleased nonetheless. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit Jo, she’s been knocking me into shape for like, a month now. I mean, thanks for opening her eyes, but could the violent protest articles stay on your end till she gets used to the basics for a while?”

“Oh, shut up, you love it! He bought a shirt saying ‘This is what a feminist looks like. And what?’ He’s totally hooked.” Jess reveals, an evil glint in her eye. Sam covers her mouth with his hand, eyes wide, grinning.

“Hey, so that’s what a Winchester looks like when it spends five more years in the oven.” Gabriel says out of nowhere, appearing over Castiel’s shoulder and peering at the screen, head tilted. Anna appears over his other shoulder, her hand resting on his back, looking equally curious as she takes in the couple on screen.

“Oh-kay… I’m feeling a little like a zoo animal here.” Sam says, looking worriedly at all the faces peering at him. Jess hides behind Sam’s shoulder.

“Oh, don’t worry, this is Gabriel and Anna, mine and Dean’s new business partners.” Castiel explains, glaring at the side of Gabriel’s head for making such a strange introductory comment. “Gabriel can be a bit of a zoo animal at times, but I assure you, you get used to him.”

Sam waves nervously, and Gabriel grins. If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d think the Angel looked a little predatory. “Okay Cassy, I get that you were _assigned_ to Dean, but why, when you’re confronted with his hotter, taller brother, would you continue to pursue this muttonhead?” Gabriel flicks Dean on the back of the head, earning him a cross ‘ow!’.

Castiel realises too late that things are being revealed here, things he and Dean have only briefly talked about revealing to Dean's family before, and he whips his head round to Gabriel, his mouth falling open, but it’s too late, Gabriel’s still talking, so he darts a petrified look at Dean, seeing his own horrified expression mirrored back at him.

_Sam and Jess don’t know yet. They don’t know any of it. About me being an Escort, about Dean hiring me, about them both lying to everyone…_

“…and you threw away your whole career for him, and look at the other one! I mean kudos, Mrs Winchester, you have your claws in a fine piece of-”

“GABRIEL.”

Castiel wishes that interruption was his own, but he’s frozen solid, only able to stare at Dean as their secret is revealed to the one person Dean cares about the most. It’s Anna, beautiful, wonderful Anna that stops Gabriel in the middle of his spiel, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him backwards, marching with him in tow towards the door of The Roadhouse. Gabriel is grinning because he knows he’s made her jealous with his comments about Sam, and he winks at Cas and Dean, probably on his way to get some very angry sex.

There’s silence as soon as they’re gone, crackling over the monitor, filling the nearly empty room. Jo swallows in the thick tension, and slides off her stool, catching Cas’s eye.

“I’m gonna go… yeah.” She says, wincing in response for the situation. She gestures towards the upstairs of the Roadhouse vaguely, probably intending to go to her room to escape the awfulness. “Good luck.” She whispers, and practically runs off.

It’s Dean that first gathers the courage to look towards the monitor again. Cas follows close behind, turning with Dean, and sees Jess and Sam in the centre of their bed, as confused as they are shell-shocked. Dean sighs and sits down heavily on Jo’s stool. Castiel decides to pull up another one. He has no idea where Ellen went; he looks around briefly, but she must have gone upstairs too now that the place looks relatively clean again. Even Cupid has deserted them.

“So… I guess you wanna know what the hell he was talking about?” Dean asks, just to break the silence probably. Sam blinks a few times as though coming out a trance, and shuffles closer to the camera.

“I know what he was talking about.” Sam replies, looking Dean straight in the eye. Castiel’s eyes widen; how could he? “I am the better looking brother. Obviously.”

There’s a couple of seconds of silence, and then Dean bursts into laughter, his face cradled in his hands. It lasts for around ten seconds, Cas grinning too, and then he hears Dean groan.

‘O _hhh_ god.’

“What’s going on, Dean?” Sam asks, a little quieter, and really, it’s a beautiful thing to observe. Sam knows how Dean works, he sees that Dean is fragile, incredibly paranoid about losing the people he loves the most. He knows to approach this situation cautiously, to not get angry, to start with a joke, so that Dean doesn’t blame himself and think he’s messed everything up the way he always does. Castiel has serious respect for Sam Winchester.

“You were… _assigned_ to my brother, Cas?” Sam tries instead when Dean doesn’t answer,

Castiel glances hesitantly at Dean, a question in his eyes, a plea for help here. What is he supposed to say? Yes, he is of course aware that Dean is no longer in control of his actions in regards to what he says or does, but that doesn’t change a lot. Castiel would rather suffer the wrath of Crowley again than upset Dean by outing his secret without permission. Dean lifts his head to Cas, a weary look of resignation in his eyes. He looks hopeless, like all is lost. He nods, very slightly, indicating that Cas should just say it, and if he’s honest, Castiel is relieved. He doesn’t believe Sam will take it too badly, he will probably be more concerned than anything. And it surely won’t be Dean he gets angry at if he does choose to react that way.

Dean has nothing to lose here, and while Castiel does, he barely even has to think about it.

* * *

 

“Assigned isn’t… the term I would use.”

It feels like he’s hearing Castiel from leagues under the ocean, the words only just permeating the thick membrane of his screaming thoughts, all telling him the cat is well and truly out of the bag, this is the moment where he could lose Sammy’s trust forever. He wants to run away, but Castiel’s hand on his shoulder anchors him to the stool.

“Dean hired me, as a… companion. To attend your wedding.”

“Escort. He’s an Escort, Sammy.”

Dean hardly knows why he’s speaking at all, he’s surely not making anything better by clarifying Cas’s job title. But Sam needs to know every detail before Dean can have any hope of Sam forgiving him.

“Well, he was.” Dean continues, blushing a little because he knows Cas was probably a little offended by Dean personifying him in such a way. “He gave it up after… we… hit it off.”

“I’m sorry, an _Escort?_ ” Jess cries, her voice shrill but contained, as though she’s struggling to stay in control. Sam looks stunned, his eyes wide and staring at the camera, flicking between two places, presumably the images of Cas and Dean he can see on his screen. “So… what you were just _pretending_ to like everyone and be nice, and oh god, be in love with Dean?! That whole time?!”

Dean feels a little nauseous at Jess’s words. Damn her, really. She’s a gorgeous, hilarious girl, but she’s shrewd and too damn honest. She speaks her mind, and it can be both a good and a bad quality.

“Jess no, I assure you it wasn’t pretend. I have already discussed this at length with Dean, but upon meeting him and all of you I established connections that I haven’t since early childhood.” Cas replies, sincerity strong in his voice. He feels the grip tighten on his shoulder; Jess’s words are affecting him too. “I’ve grown extremely fond of all of you, and broken the rules in regards to my former employment countless times, simply because I couldn’t bear to let you all go.”

Dean leans forwards slightly, trying to look directly into the camera instead of the image of Sam and Jess on screen, because he wants to show how he genuinely means this, wants Sammy to know that this is a good thing, that Cas is a godsend, and he's happy now.

“That night, the night before your wedding, we had a fight, do you remember? About Adam and Dad." Dean begins, barely blinking, the feel of Cas's fingers keeping him grounded. "I fired Cas that night, told him to go home, that he wasn’t needed anymore, but he came back. He didn’t have to, in fact it’s majorly against the rules to do that considering I wasn’t paying him by then, but he still did, because we kinda… fell. For each other. In four frickin days.”

Dean can’t help but smile at Cas then, the severity of the situation momentarily forgotten whilst he remembers the sheer, mesmerising beauty of his relationship with this person beside him, how unlikely and yet totally perfect it is. Cas smiles back, his expression a mirror of Dean’s.

“But… you paid him at the end? Like… how much?” Jess practically whispers, a barely concealed horror in her voice. She’s watching them curiously though when Dean turns back to the screen, as if his and Cas’s shared glance has reminded her of how ‘disgustingly cute’ they are.

“Nuh uh.” Dean corrects, shaking his head firmly. He jerks a thumb in Cas’s direction. “He wouldn’t let me, not one frickin penny. It was six thousand dollars-”

“Seventy-five hundred.” Castiel contradicts casually, and Dean frowns, turning to him for a moment.

“Wa? Why the extra fifteen hundr- _oh._ ”

Dean turns back to Sam and Jess, their faces bewildered, he’s blushing furiously but he attempts to plough on.

“Never mind, he’s an expensive date, but he wouldn’t let me pay. When he quit his job he told his boss to take the money out of his pocket, and the boss didn’t like it at all, but he’s a mountain of dicks, and Gabriel sweet talked him so eventually we were able-”

“Hold on.” Sam suddenly interrupts, and Dean falls quiet. He’s nervous; Sam hasn’t said anything yet, it’s been Jess doing all the talking, and so his stomach flips, heart racing. He finds Cas’s hand off-camera and squeezes it, terrified of what his brother will think. “There’s just something I don’t understand Dean… why?”

Dean blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“I mean, yeah okay, I get it, kinda. You guys were playing pretend lovers, and then you fell in love, it’s kinda cute actually." Sam smiles a little, shrugging as though he really does find it adorable. He's always been the sappy one. "And Cas… as long as you swear you weren’t making it up the whole time when you were being nice to us, and Dean obviously, then you seem like a cool guy, though _really_ generous not letting Dean pay jeez. But Dean… why did you feel you needed an Escort to my wedding?”

Cas opens his mouth to speak up for him, the perfect, beautiful Angel that’s always ready to catch him before he trips up, but Dean flashes him a small smile, squeezing his fingers, and he stays quiet.

“Sam… you said to me, you said you wanted to see me as happy as you are.” Dean says slowly, locking eyes with his brother through the camera. Sam looks as confused as ever, but he makes no move to speak, obviously in the hope that Dean will elaborate. “You were so confused, so disappointed when I said I didn’t have anyone… and Dad… he was so _mocking,_ so dismissive of my whole lifestyle, I dunno, I just couldn’t show up alone. I guess I was feelin’ a little fragile after Dad laid into me for the billionth time, cause it hit me hard when he didn’t accept me for my _sexuality_ of all things. That’s something I can’t even change. So… yeah. I needed someone to come along for the ride. And by some miracle I seem to have gotten an actual Angel out of the deal.”

Sam huffs a slightly disbelieving laugh when Dean finishes, watching as Dean leans up and kisses Cas, soft and sweet on the mouth, because he practically can’t help himself. Jess ‘aw’s’ from somewhere behind them, and they break apart, blushing a little.

“Dean you idiot.”

Dean’s mouth falls open in indignation at Sam’s words. “What?!”

“You’re actually the most idiotic person I’ve ever met when it comes to this stuff. I didn’t need you to have a perfect boyfriend in order to be happy! I mean, it’s great that you do now obviously, but what I meant was that I just wanted to _see you_ happy. I wouldn’t have cared if you’d shown up alone as long as you were having a good time! I just… I worry about you dude. Or I did, before… y’know.”

Dean stares, his mind reeling a little as Sam aims a pointed look at Cas, indicating he no longer needs to worry now that the Angel is around.

“Maybe it came out wrong, and it sounded like I was pressuring you, but honestly I was a little surprised that you came down with a long-term boyfriend on your arm already. That’s a hell of a leap from just ‘coming out’ to the family.” Sam shrugs, batting his own words out of the air with one hand. “And as far as _Dad_ goes? Jesus Dean, if you’d told me what a dick he was being, I would have backed you up! I don’t wanna say the wrong thing here, because obviously you hiring Cas was the best decision you ever made in some ways, but we could have avoided you being in a position where you felt you _had_ to have an Escort.”

“Sam…” Dean interrupts, softly, because his brother is rambling, muddling through his thoughts verbally in that way he does, as Jess rubs a soothing hand over his arm. “Does it really matter? It’s over, I did it, by some miracle it worked out. The only thing I’m concerned about right now is your reaction. Do you think you can get past this?”

Sam blinks in confusion, turning to stare at Jess as if she holds the answers. She shrugs back at him, her blonde plaits sliding over her shoulders. “Of course.” He pauses, turning back to the camera, a wrinkle in his forehead. “Dean, are you asking me to forgive you for something that you only did in the first place to make _me_ happy?”

Castiel chuckles, the movement shaking Dean a little because they’re still pressed against one another. Apparently Dean’s penchance for turning the blame onto himself in every situation – a character trait that Cas is slowly helping him come to terms with and get over – is a source of amusement between his brother and his boyfriend now.

“Okay, point taken. So you forgive me? You don’t hate me and Cas even though we basically fed you a pile of crap over the whole weekend?”

“Oh my God, Cas sort him out. He’s still got a bit of self-deprecation on him.” Sam replies, rolling his eyes.

“Really? Where?” Cas asks, scrutinising Dean by turning to him and narrowing his eyes. Dean starts to protest, but is cut off by Jess’s giggle.

“Left shoulder, there’s a huge patch of it there, quick brush it off.” She says, pointing with her sparkly painted finger.

Castiel obeys, pretending to analyse the ‘stain’ of Dean’s character flaw, and brushing his hand over Dean’s shoulder with a few precise, hard strokes. “That’s better.” He declares, turning to grin at Sam and Jess, and they nod in approval.

“Shut up, all of you.”

They all laugh at Dean’s words, and that’s when he decides he needs to hang up, take Cas home right now and spend several long hours naked, under the covers with him, kissing and touching and loving until they've had enough of each other to be able to fall asleep.

* * *

 

The first time she hears it, Jo dismisses the sound immediately, thinking it’s most likely a branch blowing against the side of the house in the strong wind, it’s wiry twigs scraping against the pane of her window. She does nothing more than shift a little in bed, changing positions so that she’s laying flat on her back.

Her room is quiet for a good minute or so after that, and she finds herself teetering on the edge of sleep again, its welcoming embrace luring her in as she lies still, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, eyes closed. Then the noise comes again, a sprinkle of taps, like someone’s fingernails drumming against a hard surface. She blinks wearily, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness surrounding her.

Slowly the furniture of her bedroom starts to become recognisable, odd geometric shapes in the near pitch black, silent and still. It would all be quite creepy really, along with the tapping noise from behind the curtain, if she weren’t so tired.

_Tap, tap, tap taptaptaptap tap_

She freezes in position, her muscles slowly becoming more alert as she processes the situation. There is a repeated, regular noise outside her window, unlikely to be a natural occurrence since she’s never heard such a sound before, and now that she thinks about it, there are no trees directly beside the house. She holds her breath, ears straining to hear the sound, though her heart is quickening its pace. What could it be? Jo is a relatively practical girl usually, but she’d be lying if she said the supernatural didn’t interest her.

Could it be a ghost? Perhaps one of those things Bobby had been talking about at the wedding, what were they called… Wendigos! They sounded horrific, and they definitely have claws. She gulps, telling herself to stop being silly. She’s scaring herself and that’s just stupid, it’s probably just an insect buzzing against the window. She debates calling for Ellen nonetheless.

The noise comes again, more forceful this time, with a heavier sprinkling of tapping noises, ringing out against the sound of glass. Okay Jo, she thinks, it’s time to prove yourself. Do this for every young white blonde woman in a horror movie who's ever gotten herself brutally murdered. Go and see what it is.

She tells herself it’s just like ripping off a bandaid as she sucks in a breath and drags herself out of bed. It’s unusually cold in her room, sending goosebumps up her bare arms as she’s clad only in a Ramones t-shirt and underwear. She crosses the room, heart thumping.

With one hand on the dark violet curtain, the fabric velvety beneath her trembling fingers, she starts as the noise comes again, much closer now obviously, sounding as if the glass is shattering, though of course it’s not, and in a surge of adrenaline fuelled courage, she rips the curtains apart, staring out at the darkened parking lot with a grim determination setting her features.

On the gravel, staring up at her window with two eyes, round as the moon illuminating his figure, is Adam Milligan, the pizza boy from Lawrence, Kansas, a handful of pebbles in his hand, ready to be hurled at the glass. When he sees her, standing at the pane, her blonde hair cascading around her shoulders in a messy waterfall, he smiles so wide she thinks he might be delirious.

The fear drains from her body immediately, and she almost wants to crumple to the floor in relief and joy, though she’d never actually admit she’s happy to see the kid. He waves excitedly, sending pebbles flying everywhere because apparently he forgot he was holding them, and she laughs because she feels like she’s dreaming. How is he even here? He must have been travelling to Detroit this whole time, maybe by bus because there’s no way he could afford the flight on a pizza boy’s salary.

She fiddles with the latch of the window, her hands fumbling because she’s excited, and scared because her Mom could hear them, and so, so happy. Her heart is pounding now, but for an entirely different reason, and she curses quietly when the window sticks, refusing to budge no matter how hard she tugs. She’s laughing though, and Adam can see her, he’s probably so pleased with himself right now, she should really just go down there and wipe the smug smile right off his face, but for some reason it feels important that she must get this window open right now, so she keeps pulling, and finally, finally, it gives way.

Adam’s not looking when Jo finally sticks her head out into the cool night air. She’s surprised at first; it had been so much warmer earlier in the evening, but it’s got to be at least 2am now, so there’s been time for it to get chilly, she supposes. Adam’s digging in his jeans pocket for something, so Jo just waits, smiling down at him fondly, knowing he’ll be ecstatic when he looks up again.

She kind of wants to shout down to him, but she can’t risk waking Ellen, her mom would kill her if she knew she had a boy here, outside her window- and oh _god_ she still can’t believe this is really happening.

Adam pulls out his phone at long last, ripping some tangled looking headphones out of it, and pressing a few buttons before he glances up to see how far Jo has got with the window. When he sees her leaning out, her elbows resting on the frame as she grins down at him, he feels kind of like he might throw up, but in a good way… if that makes any sense at all.

“Jo!” He cries, his voice high and half lost in the wind because he’s running on pure excitement, love and a disgusting filter coffee he purchased from a greasy man in a diner when he got off the last bus. She shakes her head frantically, smile dropping away to reveal petrified eyes, and she signals with her hands that talking is out. Huh, Adam thinks, letting the hand with the phone in it drop to his side, that kind of ruins his plan massively.

He sticks out his lower lip at her, giving her his best puppy-dog expression, and she rolls her eyes, but smiles softly, reaching out a tentative hand just slightly towards him, as though he’s still too far away. It’s this gesture, this unfathomable, adorable gesture that snaps Adam. He narrows his eyes and lifts his phone to his face again, scrolling through a list of titles on the screen until he finds the one he wants.

He’ll be damned if he’s going to let Ellen Harvelle keep him and Jo apart _now,_ after he’s travelled all the way from Kansas just to see her. Hell, she’s _right there,_ not five metres from him, and if she thinks that he’s going to stand for not hearing her, talking to her and touching her when they’re close enough to do all that now, she’s sorely mistaken.

He presses play, and a synthesised melody fills the air, louder than Jo would have thought possible from a device as small as the one Adam’s holding. Her face drains of blood and she shakes her head at Adam, darting a look to the closed door of her bedroom to check for signs of Ellen waking and coming to see what the commotion is.

And just like that, Adam grins at her, his rouged cheeks and glinting eyes resembling Dean’s ‘charmer’ face so much it’s a little scary, and Jo knows that there’s nothing she can do. She buries her head in her hands, surrendering herself to the inevitable screaming match she, Adam and her mom will have very, very soon, and lifts her head to listen, with a faint smile, to her boyfriend’s serenade.

“I’m lying alone, with my head on the phone,” Adam sings, horribly out of tune, and brandishing his phone high in the air, making the song even louder somehow, “thinking of you till it _huuurts_!”

Jo laughs loudly, forgetting to be quiet, because no, surely he’s not singing ‘All Outta Love’, there is just no way.

He walks across the gravel towards her, projecting his voice up to the window. She compares the action in her mind to a twisted version of the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, except there is just no way this can be considered romantic. There’s no way her heart is fluttering, and she definitely, definitely doesn’t want to run down the stairs and kiss Adam stupid right now.

Well, even if she does, it’s only because she wants him to shut his freakin’ mouth. Probably.

“I’m all outta love! I’m so lost without you!” Adam warbles, his voice carrying over the gust of wind that combs through her hair, sending it fluttering wildly around her face. She can’t stop laughing, the image of Adam singing this, such passion in his voice, such emotion in his expression, it’s too ridiculous for words, and yet she’s well past smitten, she knows it, how could she let this happen? “I’m reaching for you, are you feeling it too?” Adam practically yells at her, and she nods happily, reaching for him again, though she’s too far away. He stretches his hand up towards her, and Jo tries not to think about the fact this is probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for her. “And what would you say if I called on you now and said that I can’t go oooon?!”

That’s it. Right there. The little fucker knew this song fits too perfectly, he’s planned this probably for weeks. He’s on the last chorus now, and Jo decides it’s now or never; there are sounds coming from somewhere else in the house, and it can only be Ellen, so she’s got to do this now, before they actually are torn apart Rom and Jules style.

She forces herself to look away from Adam’s gaze, ducking back into the darkness of her bedroom as the sound of Adam’s voice continues to filter through the air. She runs across the room, flinging open the door and charging past her mom’s room towards the stairs. She completely forgets she’s in a semi state of undress until she’s practically at the front door, and she turns, intending to grab a coat from the cupboard or something, but there’s a sound from upstairs like a door opening and closing.

Shit. Out of time already. Jo’s fingers work the locks on the front door with precision, her mind working overtime because this is serious stuff, time is running out, and if she can just get out there…

She flings the door open at last, and Adam’s in the same place she left him, in front of the Roadhouse, his arm outstretched to her window, as if he expects her to return. She doesn’t even hesitate, and she’s vaguely aware of tears tracking her cheeks as she hurtles towards him, the stones in the courtyard digging into the soft skin of her bare feet as she runs, but she doesn’t care. Adam throws his phone down the moment he sees, the final words of the song dying on his lips as he catches her in his arms, lifting her up and spinning her because apparently she’s just a mere plaything and-

No, she scolds herself, cursing her overly critical mind. She shuts down her thoughts, staring into his huge doe-eyes and pressing her lips against his. He sets her down, their lips moving against each other, and pulls her close, wrapping his - mildly nauseating - yellow coat around her small frame, to shield her from the cold.

“You serenaded me. You actually serenaded me.” She says, breaking off to stare up at him before launching back again, too eager, too perfectly, ecstatically swept off her feet to break the kiss for more than a few moments.

“I promised didn’t I?” Adam asks against her lips, and he’s smiling, so wide, kissing her back with such adoration, his hands stroking her long hair. She hums and giggles, licking at his lips.

“Mmm. It’s not like men to follow through on their promises.” She replies and Adam scoffs, his hands finding her waist and tickling her so she squeals, but then pulling her back in, cradling her against him, her head on his shoulder as he rocks her gently in the still night air.

It’s still absolutely, one hundred percent totally worth it when Ellen finds them.

* * *

 

“So Chuck and Becky found each other…” Castiel says sleepily, drawing swirling patterns on Dean’s chest as he lies beside him, Dean’s arm around his shoulders. He’s utterly happy and content, right here in this moment; he wishes he could wave a wand and never have to move again.

“And Jo and Adam. Jo texted me the words ‘goodbye friend it’s been fun’ at around 4am this morning. I’m guessing that means Adam’s plan worked and Ellen found them canoodling.” Dean replies, his hand wandering up Cas’s neck to stroke the mottled skin there. “And Gabe and Anna are all loved up, which makes no sense, but whatever.”

Castiel chuckles at that, his shoulders shaking as the laughter reverberates through him. “Don’t forget Sam and Jess.” Castiel props himself up with some considerable effort, managing to rest his elbows on Dean’s chest and look down into his eyes. “They’re like the original happy couple.”

“Gosh, we are definitely going into the right profession. Look at all these people that are living happily ever after cause of us.” He’s interrupted briefly when Cas smiles broadly, his eyes twinkling. It still takes his breath away dammit and it’s not fair. He brings his hands up to wrap around Cas’s waist, fingers fluttering against him so he squirms, lying practically on top of Dean now. “I can’t think of anyone else that benefited from us though, can you?”

He’s teasing, and Castiel clearly knows, but he pouts anyway, pretending to be offended by Dean’s words. Then a sly smile creeps onto his face. “Nope, not a single other person. It’s a shame really.”

Dean brings his hand up Castiel’s back, sliding up smooth skin until he’s resting on Cas’s shoulderblades, then he pulls him down sharply, catching the former-Angel off guard and their lips crash together. “Can I please sign up for your matchmaking service?” Dean asks, barely intelligible because Castiel has begun kissing him fiercely, hardly giving him a chance to breathe. “I appear to be in dire need of a romantic partner over here-”

A ferocious growl erupts from Castiel’s frantically moving mouth, and he bites down on Dean’s lip, punishing him. “ _No._ You’re mine Winchester, all mine.” He says, low and rough, the voice he knows leaves Dean in ruins. Dean just whimpers a little, his hands digging in to the skin of Castiel’s shoulders. He loves it when Cas gets like this, not that he was provoking him or anything… “I think I’d better make you remember that.”

Dean grins, his eyes screaming bring it on, and when Castiel pounces, he knows the Angel isn’t going to be the only one needing to wear scarves for a while.

* * *

 

“Cas…”

Cas rolls over to face Dean, ready to listen and only a bit annoyed because he’s been woken up and they have so much to do in the morning. Dean’s face is slack, his eyes fast shut, and Castiel realises he’s dreaming.

“Cas… Cas I….”

Strike that, dreaming about _him._ Castiel’s interest is peaked, and he shuffles closer, curious, lying on Dean’s pillow now in case the other man says something he doesn’t quite catch.

“Ahnijyo” Dean says, a little louder, and Castiel smirks because Dean is being unintelligible just _dreaming_ about him. Apparently he doesn’t even have to touch the man to get him spouting nonsense. There’s a moment of silence then, and Cas wonders if Dean has fallen into a deeper sleep, if the dream has run its course, but then he sees Dean’s mouth opening, his eyes moving frantically behind closed lids. Maybe not a dream. Maybe a nightmare.

Castiel brings his hand up to Dean’s face, resting his palm lightly on his lover’s cheek, his eyes filled with concern. He knows he shouldn’t wake him, because there are rules about that aren’t there? You can damage a person that way, but even so, he leaves his hand there, a soothing gesture, so that maybe some part of Dean will know he’s right here beside him.

“I… I need you.”

 _Oh._ That’s what he was saying. Castiel’s eyes fill with tears, his throat constricting because Dean’s voice sounds so broken, almost as if he’s pleading with Cas, like he’s trying to get through to him. What on earth could he be dreaming about that is so awful? Stupid, awful John, raising Dean in that way, abusing him constantly so he lives with an omnipresent paranoia of his loved ones deserting him. Castiel shuffles closer, his nose practically brushing Dean’s, and he sweeps his lips over the other’s mouth, very gently.

“I need you too, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s very slight, but he thinks he sees Dean smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* sequel *cough* 
> 
> wait... what was that? sequel? hmm... ;) xx
> 
> (thank you all so much)


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